Checkmate
by Melissa Anne Potter
Summary: Written pre DH. After a former rival is found in an alley, Harry's life becomes even more complicated. Harry x Draco slash. Contains a few references to self mutilation, some non con, and a brief mention of incest. Longer summary inside.
1. Chapter 1: A Rival In Need

Summary: The summer has begun, and the search for the Horcruxes is underway. After a former rival is found in an alley, however, Harry's life becomes even more complicated. As the war escalates, friendships will be tested, lives will be lost, and Harry finds that, before he can win, he must learn the rules of the game. Harry/Draco. Contains a few references to self-mutilation, some non-con, and a brief mention to incest.

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Author's Note: As an additional disclaimer, this is not a love story nor is it meant to be read as one. I wrote this in response to all the bad H/D fics I've read (I have found a few good ones too), because I wanted to see if I could put the two together in a believable way. It's up to the reader to decide if I succeeded. The story is also about the search for the Horcruxes, so it's not all smut. Trust me though, it shall earn its rating in later chapters. And, as a side note, this story does not subscribe to your stereotypical seme/uke format. So, if that's what you're looking for, you've come to the wrong fic. Thank you, and enjoy.

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Chapter 1: A Rival in Need

Night had fallen over Privet Drive. The street was empty and silent, the neighbors long since gone to bed. All the windows were dark save for one. On the second floor, a young man stood illuminated, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

Harry glanced at the clock. One in the morning. He looked back outside, worrying at his sleeve. She should be back by now. What was taking so long?

"It's too dangerous," he had said. "What if you get attacked?"

"Diagon Alley doesn't have the books we need," Hermione had said. "Knockturn is our only hope. I'll be careful, I promise. I'll be back before nightfall."

After a long argument, Harry had finally reluctantly agreed that Hermione should go, though he wished she had let him go with her. She reminded him though that any Death Eaters were more likely to recognize him, so she was better off alone. Still, he wished that he'd had the invisibility cloak to give to her. Unfortunately, as far as he knew, it was still lying on top of the Astronomy Tower where he'd dropped it.

Harry shuddered. It had been two weeks since he'd left Hogwarts, but the memory was fresh in his mind, as though it had happened yesterday. He still lay awake most nights, replaying the scene over and over, Dumbledore's pleading voice echoing in his mind.

He shook his head to clear these thoughts and sat on the edge of his bed, tapping his foot nervously. It wouldn't have been so bad if Ron was there. No doubt he would have been just as worried as Harry, but it would have been nice to have someone to talk to. With Bill and Fleur's wedding only days away, however, Ron had agreed to go back home to help with the planning and setup. Mrs. Weasley had offered to let Harry and Hermione stay too, but they had refused when they saw the number of Weasley relatives already staying at the Burrow. Besides, the Dursleys seemed to have adopted a new philosophy this summer of avoiding Harry and his friends at all costs. In fact, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if they didn't even notice that Ron had left a couple days ago.

Harry rubbed at his tired eyes and looked at the clock again. One-thirty. Where was she?

A light tap at the window nearly made Harry jump out of his skin. He rushed to the window and threw it open, but it was only Hedwig sitting on the sill, a letter clutched in her beak.

Harry sighed, but then forced a smile. "Good girl," he said, stroking her feathers as he took the letter. He knew who it was from before he even opened it.

_Harry,_

_I just wanted to make sure you remembered to come to the wedding. Well, Mum wanted to make sure. She's practically breathing down my neck right now making sure I write this. She says you need to be here early to get ready._

_How are things going there? Managed to pull Hermione away from her books long enough to make her eat yet? Honestly, I'm surprised she hasn't starved._

_Ginny's here now. She says hi and that she misses you. Now she's watching to make sure I don't write anything bad about her. I should probably go before everyone starts crowding in._

_Ron_

Hedwig hooted loudly. "I'm not sending a letter back," Harry said softly, waving his hand idly at the window. "Go on."

Hedwig looked almost disappointed for a moment, but she hooted again and spread her wings, flying off into the night. Harry stared after her for a moment.

Determined to have one summer without the usual fights with the Dursleys, Harry had asked the Weasleys to take care of Hedwig for a couple weeks. Hermione thought it was a good idea, but she took it a step further, sending Crookshanks home with her parents. She joked that he would keep them company while she was away, though Harry had seen the sadness in her eyes when she said goodbye at the train station. She knew that there was a fairly good chance she wouldn't see them again.

Harry shook his head and rolled up the parchment, setting it on his desk. The letter told him nothing new. Mrs. Weasley had sent a two page letter a week ago about how much she wanted them at the wedding. The thought of Ginny, however, made him pause a moment. After how he had left things, he worried that she would be mad at him, so any mention of her made him take notice. But if she missed him, then maybe...

No. He wasn't going down that road. He broke up with her for a reason. He couldn't drag her back into this.

"Harry!"

Harry jumped again, turning back to the still open window. Hermione sat astride Harry's Firebolt, a large, black bundle tied to the broom behind her. Her hair, if possible, was bushier than ever, and she seemed to be out of breath.

"Hermione," Harry said in a furious whisper so he wouldn't wake the Dursleys. "What...?"

"Would you let me in first?" Hermione said nervously, glancing over her shoulder. When Harry mutely stepped aside, she climbed in, taking great care to keep the broom outside and out of viewing range, her hand gripped tightly around the handle.

"What took you so long?" Harry asked. "Where are the books?"

"I got a little side-tracked," Hermione said, finally looking at him. "Listen, I have to show you something, but I need you to promise that you'll keep quiet. You might want to get out your wand, too. It'll probably make you feel more comfortable."

"My wand? What—?"

"Trust me, you're going to want to have it."

Confused, Harry moved over to his bedside table, retrieving his wand from a drawer. Hermione pulled the broom inside and Harry saw that the thing he had mistaken for a bundle was shaped suspiciously like a body, hidden underneath a mass of filthy black robes. The way it was balanced on the broom suggested that there was a weightless spell on it, two ropes binding it to the handle. Hermione carefully untied it from the broom and lowered it to the floor, careful not shift the robes. She waved her wand at it, most likely to lift the weightless spell.

"Who—?"

Hermione put a finger to her lips and shook her head. "Remember, keep quiet." She pulled the hood of the robes back.

Harry stumbled back a couple of steps, his mouth opening, but he stopped himself from yelling at the last moment and settled for gaping. A young man lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, the black school robes draped over him like a tent. He looked almost dead, save for the uneven rising and falling of his chest. If not for the white-blond hair, Harry would not have recognized him.

"_Malfoy_," he said when he found his voice. He turned on Hermione. "You brought him _here_?!"

"I didn't know what else to do," Hermione said, running a hand through her hair. "I found him in an alley near Borgin and Burkes. I couldn't just leave him lie there!"

"What? You found him like _this?_" Harry had assumed that Hermione had knocked him out.

Hermione grabbed Malfoy's arm and flipped him over onto his back. Malfoy gave a small moan but remained unconscious. Underneath the dirt that smudged his face, his skin was ghastly white and drenched in sweat, his cheeks tinged pink with fever. Hermione pushed up Malfoy's left sleeve to show Harry the dirty, blood soaked cloths wrapped around his forearm. Then, she looked up at Harry, as though gauging his reaction.

Harry felt a sinking in his stomach as he realized that Hermione was waiting for his cue. He stared at Malfoy for a moment. A series of images of Malfoy flashed through his mind, from offering Harry a hand in friendship to calling Hermione a Mudblood, from crushing Harry's nose under his heel to hunching over a sink in the bathroom, crying. He remembered Malfoy standing on the roof of the Astronomy Tower, with his empty threats and his hand shaking as he pointed his wand at Dumbledore. As Harry looked down at his former rival, unconscious on the floor, he felt revulsion.

But he also felt pity. And, as he remembered Dumbledore's promise to help Malfoy, he knew what he had to do.

So, Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "What do you need?"

Some of the tension seemed to go out of Hermione. "Your aunt has a medicine cupboard, doesn't she? Just fill a bag with whatever you can find and bring it all here. I also need you to get me a large bowl, mild soap, clean towels, and some bandages."

Harry nodded, grabbing his school bag off the floor and heading out the door, trying to keep his mind focused on the task. There would be time for questions after they saved Malfoy's life.

When Harry got to the bathroom, he cleaned out the medicine cupboard, not even bothering to sort out the medicines that would obviously not be helpful. Then, he went on a search for bandages, towels, and soap. There were no bowls in the bathroom, so he made a quick run downstairs to the kitchen. He found a mixing bowl in the cabinet and decided it would have to do. Even though he was careful to be quiet, he was sure the Dursleys were going to catch him at any moment.

By some miracle, Harry made it back to his room without meeting anyone. He knelt on the opposite side of Malfoy from Hermione and passed the items over to her.

Hermione dumped the bag out on the floor and gave the medicines a once over, furrowing her brow. Then, she turned her attention to the cloths around the arm and slowly began to unwrap them. The cloth stuck to the wound, so Hermione filled the bowl with water and lowered the arm into it slowly. Malfoy made a feeble attempt to pull away, but Hermione held on and he soon went still again. Once the bandage had soaked for a while, Hermione tried again.

When the last of the cloth was removed, Harry drew in a sharp breath. The skin had been sliced off Malfoy's forearm nearly elbow to wrist, leaving a huge, shallow wound that oozed blood and pus. The entire arm was inflamed and swollen.

Hermione picked up Malfoy's arm by the wrist, careful to avoid touching the wound, and examined it, shaking her head. "Hold him down," she said, stretching Malfoy's arm out over the bowl.

Harry did as he was told, pinning Malfoy to the ground, and Hermione pointed her wand at Malfoy's arm. A jet of water poured over the wound. Malfoy twitched, his head moving slightly and moaned, but nothing more. Harry nearly relaxed his grip, but one look at Hermione told him to hold it. She vanished the dirty water from the bowl and filled it with clean water. She mixed in some soap and dipped a towel inside, wringing it out. Then she lifted it to Malfoy's arm.

Harry saw what was coming a split second before it happened and quickly shifted positions, pinning Malfoy's legs with one of his own and freeing up one of his hands to cover Malfoy's mouth. This turned out to be a smart move, as Hermione touched the towel to Malfoy's arm. Malfoy's eyes flew open and he made a strangled noise, bucking so hard that Harry was nearly thrown off balance.

"Hermione!" Harry hissed.

"_Stupefy!_" Hermione said, pointing her wand straight at Malfoy's chest. Malfoy's eyes opened wide for a moment before he fell back against the floor, out cold. Harry let him go, trying to calm his racing heart. Hermione, however, just tucked her wand back away and immediately went back to cleaning the wound as if nothing had happened.

Once she had finished with that, Hermione put the dirtied towels aside. "The infection's spreading," she muttered, probably more to herself than to Harry. "We need to get it out now."

She reached into her pocket and pulled her hand back out, her fist clutched around something. She tapped it once and the thing unshrunk, revealing itself as a large, rather thick book. She flipped it open to the index.

"Where did you get that?" Harry asked, tilting his head to inspect the title: _Calard's Composium of Cures_.

"Book shop across from Borgin and Burkes," she said, turning to a page near the middle, "right after I found him." She stared at the page for a moment longer then nodded to herself, grabbing a clean towel. She pressed it over the wound and pointed her wand at it, whispering a spell. Blue light shot from her wand and the towel glowed for a moment. She immediately pulled it back and wrinkled her nose. She filled the basin with clean water again and dunked the towel inside, washing out what looked like a very large amount of pus with a bit of blood mixed in.

Hermione did the spell several more times, and each time she did, the towel had a bit less on it. When she finally finished the job, she glanced at the book one last time. Then, she ran a stream of water over the wound and wrapped it in bandages. She vanished the water from the bowl and used a cleaning spell on the towels and her hands.

Harry thought she was done, but she pressed a hand to Malfoy's head next. "He's still running a fever," she said. She selected a bottle from the pile of medicine and popped it open. "This is why I wanted to keep him awake. Prop his head up and open his mouth."

Harry hesitated, but did as she asked. Hermione shook two pills into her hand, and, to Harry's disgust, reached her fingers into Malfoy's mouth, carefully placing the pills on his tongue. She motioned for Harry to close his jaw, so he did, holding it tightly until Malfoy swallowed. Then, Hermione levitated Malfoy and floated him over to Harry's bed before slumping back against the wall, breathing deeply.

"The book only has spells for small scrapes and bruises," she said, reaching over to shut it, "so the wound's just going to have to heal on its own."

"How did he end up in an alley?" Harry asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. There were some people standing around in front of Borgin and Burkes, so I thought maybe I'd duck into the alley until they left just to be safe. I saw a bit of blood on the ground, so I followed it, and I found him lying back behind some trash bins. It looked like he crawled there."

"But why was he there?"

"I don't know. I'm more interested in who attacked him."

Harry thought for a moment. The question hadn't occurred to him. "An Auror?"

"Why injure him though? Why not just stun him and bring him back to the Ministry?"

"Maybe it was a Death Eater then. I mean, he did fail his last assignment."

"That's what I thought. Still...if they wanted him dead, why not just kill him? And why dump him in Knockturn where anyone could find him?"

"Maybe he Apparated there.

Hermione shook her head. "I doubt it. I saw bits of skin on the ground. Whoever attacked him did it there." She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

She stared at the ground for a moment, then looked up at him. "It's just...I've never done that spell before. What if I did it wrong? What if I didn't get it all out? What if he...?" She trailed off, glancing at Malfoy's still form.

"You did everything you could," Harry said, wishing he could come up with something more comforting to say.

Hermione bit her lip and gave a small nod."I suppose all we can do is try to get some sleep. We'll know in the morning."

Harry didn't like the worried look still on her face, but he didn't know what else to do for her. The adrenaline seemed to be draining out of him and it was hard to think clearly. All he wanted was to curl up and go to sleep. Still, he knew he should get the supplies back to their places, so he picked up the bag, loaded everything back into it, and headed back to the bathroom. He returned everything to its rightful place. Obviously, there were a few bandages and pills missing, but he hoped against all odds that Aunt Petunia wouldn't notice or would just think Dudley took them.

Now all that remained was the bowl. Harry wouldn't have bothered, except that, knowing his luck, Aunt Petunia would need it the next day. There would be no blaming that on Dudley. So, for the second time that night, he snuck downstairs.

This time, however, the kitchen wasn't empty.

Dudley sat at the table, a large plate of pudding in front of him. He froze the moment Harry appeared in the doorway, his fork inches from his mouth. He looked vaguely like he was going to be sick.

"W...what are you doing?" Dudley said in a slightly high-pitched voice.

"None of your business," Harry said, trying to act unconcerned as he went to the cabinet to put the bowl away.

"I'm going to tell Mum you were down here."

Harry's mind raced to come up with a response. "You don't want to do that," he said to stall for time.

"Why not?"

Harry looked around the room, trying to think of something, until his eyes settled on the pudding in front of Dudley. He recognized it as the pudding Aunt Petunia had made for a party she was going to the next day. "Or I'll tell her that you were eating the pudding."

"She won't believe you," Dudley said shakily.

"She might not _say_ that she believes me, but she'll know it's true," Harry said. "You'll be eating carrot sticks for the rest of the week."

Harry knew that he had hit a nerve. Since Dudley had started boxing and had built muscle in place of some of his fat, Aunt Petunia had let up on some of the strict dieting rules she put on him. There were still rules though, and any breaking of them had Dudley right back on his diet. Of course, Harry knew that even if he didn't tell Aunt Petunia, she would know that Dudley was the one who ate the pudding. He just hoped that Dudley wouldn't make that connection.

Dudley was quiet for a long time, his brow furrowed as though in deep thought. "One word," he warned, "and I'll tell her."

Harry breathed an inward sigh of relief and nodded. Then, he retreated back up to his room as fast as he could, thanking his luck that Dudley hadn't managed to work it out. He had long since passed the age when he was afraid of what Aunt Petunia said, but he would rather not have to deal with her if he didn't have to.

Harry made it back up to his room without further incident to find that Hermione had already gone to sleep, curled up on the floor in the corner. Since his bed had been taken over, he went to his closet and got out an old blanket to use for a pillow. By some miracle, he managed to find a clear spot on the floor a few feet from where Hermione. He lay down on the hard floor and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

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Author's Note: Please review. I'm still learning my British-isms, so if I slipped up, please let me know. Depending on how major the error is, I may go back and fix it if it won't interfere with the plot. Updates on this will probably be sporadic, since I'm a college student, but I'll do my best to post regularly. Next chapter: Harry and Hermione discover what really happened to Malfoy's arm.


	2. Chapter 2: Waking the Dragon

Author's note: Wow, I didn't expect to get many if any reviews. Thanks very much to the three who did review! I was going to wait to post again until Chapter 1 was up on FictionAlley, but I got tired of waiting. So, here it is. Enjoy.

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Chapter 2: Waking the Dragon

When Harry woke up, the first thing he was aware of was something pressing against his spine. He groaned and arched his back, reaching his arm around and pulling his wand out from under him. Thankful that he hadn't hurt himself somehow during the night and wondering how he managed to fall asleep in the first place, he sat up, stretching his sore muscles. He glanced at Hermione and felt a pang of guilt. If he'd realized how uncomfortable it was earlier, he would have offered to trade off nights sleeping on the floor.

His eyes moved toward the bed, where Malfoy lay, still in the same position they had left him. Harry felt a small twinge of pity again. Malfoy had done horrible things, and Harry certainly didn't excuse him that, but still he felt sorry for him.

A low moan to Harry's left made him jump. Hermione stretched her arms and flipped onto her side, her eyes opening into slits as she propped herself on one elbow. Her hair was so bushy now it almost seemed to stand on end.

"Morning," she said, yawning.

Harry returned the greeting, matching her lack of enthusiasm.

Hermione rolled her neck, then pulled herself to her feet and walked over to the bed. Placing a hand on Malfoy's forehead, she shook her head. "Better, but still a little warm." She glanced at the clock, which read ten o'clock. "We'll have to get him some more medicine and change those bandages."

"Everything's in the medicine cupboard," Harry said. "Just make sure Aunt Petunia doesn't see you. I'll go get some breakfast."

Hermione nodded and left the room. Once the door was shut, Harry stood up and moved to his wardrobe to change his clothes. He had just started to pull his shirt over his head when he paused, glancing at Malfoy. The prospect of changing in front of his rival made his skin crawl.

Harry shook his head. He was being stupid. Malfoy wasn't going to be waking up anytime soon; he might as well not even be there. Still, Harry changed quickly, keeping his back turned to the bed.

When Harry got downstairs, he was thankful to find that the Dursleys were nowhere in sight. Uncle Vernon would be at work by now, and from the odd bits of conversation he had picked up the last few days, he knew that Aunt Petunia was at a house party of some sort. No doubt she had noticed that Dudley had eaten a good sized portion of the pudding she had planned to bring with her. He didn't know where Dudley was, but he guessed it had something to do with video games or beating someone up.

In most cases, if Harry knew that he probably wouldn't be bothered, he would have used the opportunity to cook his and Hermione's meals. He didn't feel like taking the chance today, however, so he grabbed some bread and set to making toast. Once he'd filled a plate, he headed back upstairs.

He returned to find Hermione flipping through one of her Charms books. "What're you doing?"

"Trying to find that spell to conjure ropes," she said. "We should restrain him before we wake him up."

"Then what do we do?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. By the look on her face, she'd been just about to ask him the same thing. "I don't know. We're not exactly in the best of places to be taking in captives. We don't even know how he got into that alley in the first place."

"We'll just have to get the answers out of him when he wakes up then," Harry said. "While we wait, what else did you find in Knockturn Alley?"

She shook her head. "Not much. There are no books that even _mention_ Horcruxes. If I didn't know any better, I'd think they didn't exist."

"They _do_ exist! I've seen the proof of it myself!"

"Relax, I believe you."

Harry sighed, sitting on his desk chair. "You're right though. If there's no mention of Horcruxes anywhere, how are we supposed to find them?"

"I don't know." Hermione said. She sat down on the floor and opened the Charms book again. "I just don't know."

She didn't seem willing to talk much more, so Harry got out his copy of _Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts_, which had been given to him by Sirius. He had taken to studying all his old Defense books (except for _Defensive Magical Theory_, which was just a load of rubbish) whenever he had spare time, making note of every spell that might be helpful in the future. He knew it was probably pointless, since he wasn't practicing the spells, but he had to do something to keep himself busy.

It was early afternoon before Hermione finally shut her book and went over to the bed again, feeling Malfoy's forehead. "Manageable," she said. She retrieved a pill bottle from the nightstand and slipped two pills into Malfoy's mouth, clamping his jaw shut until he swallowed. "I'll change the bandages again while he's still out." She turned to Harry. "We should probably wake him up soon unless we plan on starving him to death."

Harry, who had been thinking about what Aunt Petunia would say when she found a bottle of pills missing from her cupboard, forced his mind back to the present. "I'll go get some more food," he said. "Don't do anything until I get back."

At this time of the afternoon, Harry hadn't been expecting anyone to be in the kitchen. He did a double take when he walked in and saw Aunt Petunia stirring something in a large pot on the stove. Her eyes flitted in his direction and she waved her spoon at a rather puny bowl of soup sitting on the counter. It looked like it had been there for a while.

Harry gave a silent sigh of relief. Dudley must not have told her about him sneaking around the previous night. "Um...Herm...I mean, my friends are still here," he said. If they were waking Malfoy now, he figured he'd better bring enough for three.

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips and, for a moment, Harry thought he was going to have to try to sneak past her later. Then, she spoke. "There's another can in the cupboard."

Harry looked, and, sure enough, there was another can of soup. He glanced at Aunt Petunia again, but she didn't seem to be moving away from the stove anytime soon. Not wanting to push his luck, he grabbed a couple more bowls, spoons, and a can opener. He then filled three glasses with water, loaded it all up on one of the serving trays Aunt Petunia used when guests were over, and hurried out.

When Harry opened the door to his room, he nearly dropped everything. Hermione had transported Malfoy out of the bed and into Harry's desk chair. She had already conjured ropes tying his hands around the back of the chair and was currently kneeling on the floor, binding his feet to the legs of the chair. Malfoy was dead weight, his torso slumped forward and his chin resting on his chest.

"Hermione!" Harry said, putting the tray on the desk. "I thought I told you not to do anything!"

"Well, it's not like I woke him up," Hermione said. When she finished, she grabbed something off the floor and passed it to Harry. "Found that in his pocket. At least if he gets out and tries to run, he won't get far."

Harry gaped at the wand in his hand. "What...?" He looked up. "Hermione, how do you know so much about taking captives?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, I read a lot," she said. She pointed her wand at the door and performed one last spell. "Anyway, you should put that wand somewhere out of sight before he wakes up. Would you like me to do the honors?"

"You better stand back," Harry warned as he dropped the wand into the drawer of his bedside table. "You saw what he did last time he woke up."

Hermione nodded, raising her wand. "_Rennervate!_"

Malfoy's body gave a small shudder and he raised his head, blinking. His eyes flashed and he tried to lunge forward, but the chair didn't even move an inch.

"I also bound the chair legs to the floor," Hermione said. "He's not going anywhere."

Harry looked at Hermione with some amazement, but he barely had a second to wonder how she had thought of that when Malfoy let out a slew of curses. He continued to pull against the ropes, thrashing around like a feral animal in a trap.

"What if someone hears him?" Harry said just loud enough so Hermione could hear him.

She shook her head. "I put Imperturbable charms around the whole room. He can yell all he wants, no one will hear him."

_Of course_, Harry thought. "Nice way of thanking us," he said out loud, "after we saved your life and all."

Malfoy went limp in the chair, bowing his head and breathing heavily. "Well, you'll forgive me for not groveling at your feet. If you hadn't noticed, I'm a little tied up at the moment." Even at a hoarse whisper, his voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Why were you in that alley?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy raised his head a bit, his eyes narrowed. "Fuck off," he spat. "_Mudblood_."

Harry's hands curled into fists, and he took a step forward, but Hermione's hand on his arm stopped him. She moved over to the tray, picking up a glass of water and taking a sip. Then, she picked up a second glass and crossed the room again, stopping a few feet away from Malfoy.

"Answer the question," she said calmly.

Malfoy stared transfixed at the water, his tongue darting out of his mouth to lick his chapped lips. Still, his eyes were filled with a deep loathing as he spoke again. "I'm on a job," he said. "Taking out Ollivander."

"You weren't anywhere near his shop," Hermione said.

"I had to pick up something from Borgin."

"Then why didn't you go in?"

Malfoy pulled against the ropes around his hands again and winced. "I was going to..."

"You're lying. Who attacked...?" Hermione trailed off, her eyes darting to the bandage on Malfoy's arm. A sudden look of realization dawning on her face. She set the glass back on the desk and seized Harry's arm, pulling him to the opposite corner of the room.

"Hermione, what—?"

"He did it to himself," Hermione whispered.

"What?"

"The wound is on his left arm."

Harry thought about it for a moment until it clicked in his mind. "The Dark Mark."

"Exactly." Hermione lowered her voice even further. "I read up on the Dark Mark last year. It's not just for summoning the Death Eaters; it also acts like a sort of homing beacon. Think about it. There's only one conceivable reason for a Death Eater to try to cut off the Dark Mark."

"He's on the run," Harry said.

"Exactly," Hermione said, "and knowing Voldemort, he's got Death Eaters out looking for him."

"So," Harry said, "what are we going to do?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know." Before Harry could say another word, she turned back toward Malfoy.

Malfoy immediately straightened up in his chair when they looked at him, though Harry noted a hint of exhaustion in his eyes. "Done talking about me behind my back, are you?"

"Get your wand out Harry and point it at him," Hermione said as she tucked her own away and retrieved the glass of water again. Once Harry had done as she asked, she started toward Malfoy. She reached a hand toward his head, but he jerked away from her.

"Don't touch me," he hissed.

"You're walking a fine line, Malfoy," Hermione said. "Remember, one false move and you'll be spending the rest of the evening unconscious." With that, she lifted the glass to his lips.

Malfoy's thirst seemed to trump all, and he gulped the water down greedily. When Hermione pulled the glass away after a moment, he made a small sound of protest.

"Don't drink so fast," she said. "We don't need you getting sick on us." She brought the glass to his mouth again and, to his credit, he followed her advice.

When the glass was about half empty, Hermione took it away, setting it back on the table. "Now, let's try this again. Why were you in that alley? Don't even bother lying to us."

"None of your business," Malfoy said immediately.

"Harry..."

Harry took the cue and raised his wand again.

"All right, all right, I'll tell you!" Malfoy said in a rush, squirming in the chair. Harry got the feeling that if he hadn't been tied down, he would have scrambled backwards. "I was running away!"

"From Voldemort." Malfoy winced when Hermione said the name, but she didn't even take notice. "Why did you run away?"

"Because he's going to kill me!" Malfoy said, the panic in his voice steadily rising. "Snape said he wouldn't, but he was just lying so I wouldn't run!"

Hermione stumbled back a couple of steps. "Harry, lower your wand," she said.

"Herm—"

"Just do it."

Harry hesitated again, but finally he did so. After a few seconds, Malfoy relaxed, though his eyes were still focused on Harry's wand.

"I think that's enough for right now," Hermione said. "We should eat, anyway." She glanced at Malfoy. "Do you think you can behave yourself, or am I going to have to hand feed you too?"

If looks could kill, Harry would have been cleaning Hermione's blood off the wall, but she didn't react. "Right then," she said. "Harry, why don't you keep him company while I heat up the soup?"

Harry nodded and fixed his gaze on Malfoy while Hermione started to open the can of soup. Malfoy seemed to have calmed his fear down a bit and gave a smug smirk that made Harry's blood boil.

Hermione used a spell to warm the soup and turned back. "All right," she said. "Let's do this." She moved toward the chair again, drawing her wand. Malfoy flinched slightly, but didn't have nearly the same reaction as he'd had to Harry.

Once the binds were cut, Malfoy sat back in the chair, rubbing his wrists, which were chafed from the ropes. Hermione handed him a bowl of soup, which he grabbed out of her hand and started eating immediately. One bite, however and he let out a strangled sound, coughing.

"Sure you got it hot enough, Granger?" he gasped out.

"More incentive for you to eat it slowly," she replied. She picked up her own bowl and sat cross-legged on the floor, laying her wand across her lap. She made a point of blowing on her first spoonful before eating it.

Harry took his own bowl and sat on the edge of his bed, setting his wand close by for easy access. He took a bite of soup and let out a quick breath of air. Much as he hated to admit it, Malfoy was right. It seemed Hermione had heated the soup almost to the boiling point. Still, he continued to eat and, by the time the bowl was half-empty, the temperature had dropped to a tolerable level.

Malfoy finished first and sat with his shoulders hunched and head bowed. His hands clasped around the bowl as though he were trying to draw every bit of heat from it he could. Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye. It was as though a barrier had dropped. Malfoy no longer looked angry or even scared, just lost.

Then, Hermione dropped her spoon back into her bowl with a clatter and the moment was broken. Malfoy's eyes narrowed again, and he looked up. Harry quickly finished his last few bites of soup to hide the fact that he'd been watching.

Hermione stood and set her bowl on the tray before advancing slowly on Malfoy again, her wand gripped tightly in her hand. He gave no reaction, however, as she took the bowl from his hands. She took Harry's next. "I'll take these back downstairs," she said, then lowered her voice to address Harry. "Keep watch. Don't let him wind you up."

The moment Hermione left the room, Malfoy shot a sly glance at Harry. "She certainly has you well trained."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry growled, closing his hand around his wand.

Malfoy's eyes focused on the wand, but he smirked. "Strike a nerve, did I?"

"I said shut up!" Harry leapt to his feet, pointing his wand directly at Malfoy's chest.

Malfoy stood and scrambled backwards so fast he nearly fell over the back of his chair, the little bit of color left in his face draining.

Before either of them could do anything further, the door burst open. Dudley stood on the other side, his face a mixture of fear and triumph.

"I knew I heard something!" he said. He looked between them for a moment before turning to Harry, pointing a shaky finger at Malfoy. "I'm telling Mum you brought another freak in the house!"

"Dudley," Harry said through gritted teeth, his wand still pointed at Malfoy, who seemed unable to decide who he should be keeping his eyes on more, "this really isn't the best time."

"You...you're not supposed to do magic!" Dudley said, his voice wavering. "You'll get kicked out!"

Before Harry could inform Dudley that he didn't intend on going back to Hogwarts, a voice came from behind Dudley. "He can't, but I can."

Dudley turned a sickly shade of green and jumped to one side. Malfoy had to leap back to avoid being stepped on. Hermione stood in the doorway, her wand pointed at Dudley.

"N...no you can't!" Dudley said in a shrill voice. "You'll get kicked out, too!"

"I'm seventeen," Hermione said, "and of legal age to practice magic."

Dudley looked like he was going to be sick. Malfoy seemed to have given up on trying to keep his eye on everyone and had just backed into a corner to stay out of the way.

"Now," Hermione said, advancing a few steps with her wand still pointed at Dudley, "you're going to forget what you saw here. Do you understand?"

Dudley nodded rapidly.

"Good," Hermione said, lowering her wand and stepping aside to let him hurry out of the room.

"What the hell was that?" Malfoy asked the moment the door shut.

Hermione waved her wand at the door and turned to face Harry. "I'm so sorry. I forgot that the Unperturable charms break when someone leaves the room."

"Who...?" Malfoy started again.

"Good thinking though," Harry said. "At least he won't tell anyone. Probably thinks you'll turn him into a frog."

"Am I invisible!" Malfoy shouted.

"Not yet, but it's a good idea," Harry said, glancing at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye.

"I want to know who that was!"

"My cousin. That's more than you need to know."

"Your _cousin_?" A grin spread over Malfoy's face. "Oh that is just _too_ perfect."

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

"Both of you stop it," Hermione said as she tucked her wand back away. "Honestly, you're acting like children."

Harry glared at her for a second, but his anger quickly evaporated. Still, he made an effort not to look at Malfoy again.

Hermione, however, did turn her attention on Malfoy. "So, do you want to be tied in the chair again or have a full body bind."

"What?" Malfoy said.

"Well, you can't honestly expect us to leave you free all night," Hermione said. "If it wasn't just me and Harry, we could have someone watch you, but we need to sleep, too. Just be glad I'm giving you the choice."

"Oh, I'm just ecstatic," Malfoy said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Beyond words."

Harry rubbed his temples where a small spear of pain was starting to form. "Hermione, you're exhausted," he said. "Just go to sleep. I'll take the first watch."

"We can't be wasting all our time watching him," Hermione said. "What about...?"

"Just until we can come up with something better," Harry said. "Besides, I doubt he's going anywhere."

"All right," Hermione said, not looking away from Malfoy, "but just so you know, there are spells to track Apparation, so don't even try it. If we don't find you, someone else will."

"I know that," Malfoy said indignantly.

"Good." She glanced at the clock and returned to her spot of the floor. "Wake me up around two o'clock."

Malfoy gave Harry a haughty look and lay back on the bed. He frowned. "How do you sleep on this thing, Potter?" he asked, shifting around. "It's like lying on a pile of rocks."

"You're welcome to the floor," Harry snapped. It was just like Malfoy to assume that he got the bed.

"Would you two be quiet?" Hermione mumbled, turning on her side to face toward the wall.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and turned his back on Harry, too. Within a few minutes, Harry heard a low snoring.

Harry sighed and sat on the floor, pressing his back against the wall. He was exhausted too, but he would never let that on to Hermione. He didn't want her stressing herself out anymore over this.

But that wasn't the reason why he stopped her from restraining Malfoy. He wished it was. Truthfully, she was starting to scare him. He had overlooked her willingness to go to Knockturn Alley. It bothered him though that she was so willing to take Malfoy captive; that she would push him so far to get answers and tie him to a chair for the night with barely a second thought.

Harry couldn't say that he wouldn't have come up with the idea himself. In fact, he would have insisted that Malfoy be put into a full body bind without question. He was willing to push the boundaries, but he didn't want that for Hermione.

Because if she crossed the line, he knew it would be his fault.

Harry shook his head of the thoughts and sighed, closing his eyes. He would just rest them for a minute. Then, he would be fine.

Within seconds, he slipped into a deep sleep.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Again, please read and review. The next chapter's looking like it might be a bit longer, though I haven't quite decided where to cut it off just yet. So, next chapter: A rather painful side effect of the Dark Mark is discovered, Hermione puts her mind to use again, and Harry leaves the Dursleys' house for good.


	3. Chapter 3: Leaving Privet Drive

Author's note: Thanks once more to everyone who reviewed. As I predicted, this chapter ended up longer than the last two (mostly because I had a hard time finding a place to cut it off). So, as always, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 3: Leaving Privet Drive

A bloodcurdling scream filled the room, and Harry's eyes shot open as he leapt to his feet. Hermione was up the same instant as him and lit the tip of her wand to illuminate the room. Harry's eyes adjusted and he recoiled at the sight before him.

Malfoy was curled into a tight ball on the bed, tearing at the bandage on his arm. His face contorted with pain and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

"Hold him down!" Hermione said, flipping the light switch and putting out her wand.

Harry nodded and grabbed at Malfoy's uninjured arm, but getting him to lie still was easier said than done.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, crouching down by the bed, her voice almost steady, "listen to me. I need you to lie back. I can't knock you out for this one, not until I know what's wrong."

Malfoy's hand clasped tightly around his arm and he opened his eyes to stare at Hermione for a moment. Then, he slowly flipped onto his back, still shaking slightly.

Hermione set to work, peeling back to layers of bandages. Malfoy winced and squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to pull away. Harry knelt on the bed, locked his hands around Malfoy's upper arms, and put all his strength into keeping him still.

When Harry looked down and his eyes locked with Malfoy's for a brief moment. What he saw wasn't anger or hate, but pain and fear. Only once before had he seen that look from Malfoy, but he would never forget it.

_Sectumsempra_.

"Harry, look!"

Harry tore his eyes away from Malfoy's face and glanced over. Hermione held the bloody bandages in one hand and pointed at Malfoy's wound, which still oozed blood slightly. It looked relatively normal on first glance, but when Harry looked closer he saw a spot where a black line was forming along the flesh, as though an invisible quill were being drawn across his skin.

Harry didn't have to ask, he knew what it was. "The Dark Mark."

"_Desiit," _Hermione said, pointing her wand at the spot. The line stopped growing and Malfoy went limp, breathing harshly. Harry let go of Malfoy's arms and sat back.

"I put it in stasis," she explained. "The spell should hold for at least a few days, which gives us plenty of time to..."

"It won't help," Malfoy said, his voice quiet and monotone. "He'll still find me."

Hermione looked at him questioningly. Then, her eyes lit up with horror. "Harry, hold him down again."

"What?" Harry said.

"Do it!"

Harry gripped Malfoy's arms again, watching Hermione's every move. She pointed the wand at the wound again. To Harry's horror, a thin strand of light shot from her wand, slicing through the flesh. Malfoy let out another cry of pain and struggled so violently he nearly escaped Harry's grasp.

"Hermione!" Harry said when he found his voice.

"Just a minute," Hermione said. She used the wad of bandages in her hand to pick up the slice she had cut and hurried over to the window. She waved her wand a couple of times over the bandages and threw them out the window. Harry squinted past her to try to see where it was going, but it soared high into the air, disappearing into the night. Hermione quickly shut the window and waved her wand at it, too.

"I haven't had much practice with that spell," Hermione said. "It'll probably turn up somewhere in Wales, if we're lucky." Harry continued to gape at her as she moved back to the bedside, examining the wound again. Then, she reached for fresh bandages off the bedside table and started to bind it. "The stasis spell seems to be holding. Unfortunately, I can't do anything for the pain without removing the stasis, so you'll just have to work through it."

Malfoy let out a hissing breath in response.

"What was that about?!" Harry asked as he got up from the bed.

"Voldemort must have a spell on the Mark to make it regenerate after a certain amount of time," Hermione said.

"But, why did you...?"

"He can use the Mark to track down his followers. He can hone in on even the smallest fragment of one. Even if it's not attached anymore." She glanced at Malfoy for confirmation and received a mute nod. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "No wonder no Death Eater has ever escaped."

Harry felt a chill creep up his spine as he stared at Malfoy's still trembling form. He imagined what that'd be like, having to skin his own arm, to endure such pain, only to have the Mark burn through again.

"Malfoy," Hermione spoke again, "I need you to listen to me. I'll have to renew the stasis spell every few days to keep it continuous. If the arm starts bleeding or burning again, you need to tell me right away."

Malfoy nodded again, apparently too pained to respond. Then, he winced again and turning his face away from them.

"Can I see you for a moment?" Harry said.

Hermione glanced back at him in surprise and got up, crossing the room with him.

"You've looked through Aunt Petunia's medicine," Harry whispered. "Is there anything we can give him to help him sleep?"

Hermione's eyes widened at what probably seemed an odd request. "Well, no," she said, looking reluctant. "But...well, I might have something." She went to her trunk and started rummaging around inside until she drew out a box about the size of a large book. She opened it to reveal three small vials.

"What is that?" Harry asked.

"Diluted belladonna," Hermione said, "a very powerful sedative."

"Why do you have it?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "I was having some trouble sleeping, so I picked up during my trip to France."

"_France_? Hermione that was _years_ ago!"

"Well, I had some extra left over, and..." she hesitated and lowered her voice further, "...well, it's not exactly legal to sell it in Britain."

"Wait," Harry said, "we use Belladonna in Potions class."

"The plant, yes," Hermione said. "It's illegal to sell it as a sedative. See, if the measurements are off even by a bit, it could be fatal."

"And you bought it," Harry said.

"I did my research. The shopkeepers came very well recommended."

Harry just stared at her, hardly believing his ears.

"You know," a slightly strained voice behind them said, "I'm not deaf."

Hermione turned in surprise, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Well...I have this...I mean, if you're having trouble sleeping..."

"I said I'm not deaf, Granger," Malfoy said, pulling himself up into a sitting position, "but apparently you are. I'll take it."

Hermione blinked at him for a second, but finally stepped forward holding out the vial. "It tastes terrible."

Malfoy snatched it out of her hand and downed it in one gulp. For a moment, he looked very much like he was going to be sick, but then he shuddered and reached over toward the table to set the vial down. He missed, dropping it on the floor, and just sat, staring at it for a moment.

"Is he all right?" Harry asked in an undertone.

Hermione nodded. "Just a little disoriented. It'll kick in pretty soon."

Sure enough, Malfoy laid back down on the bed and, not three seconds later, started snoring.

"I'll go ahead and start my watch," Hermione said as she carefully tucked the box back into her trunk. "Get some sleep."

"Do we even need a watch?" Harry asked. "I mean, is there any chance he'll wake up anytime soon?"

"Very little," she said, "but...well, there's a bit of a side-effect they neglect to tell the customers about."

Harry was almost afraid to ask. "What?"

"Sleepwalking."

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Brilliant," he muttered under his breath, "just brilliant."

"What was that?"

"I'm going to sleep." Harry went to his spot on the floor and lay down, shutting his eyes. Honestly, he had expected to not be able to sleep, but the moment his head hit the makeshift pillow, a wave of exhaustion overcame him and he slipped into darkness.

-

Harry woke to a brilliantly bright light. He squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust and saw that it was just the sunlight shining in the window. He groaned and sat up, hearing a loud pop from his back. He missed his bed.

Harry glanced over and saw Malfoy still fast asleep, though he was lying flat on his stomach, his arms and legs stretched out in a way that looked extremely uncomfortable. Hermione was sitting on the desk chair, staring at a spot on the wall.

"Did he sleepwalk?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, but not much. I won't relate what he did, just that it involved the waste bin and I already used a cleaning spell."

Harry made a solemn vow never to think too carefully about the meaning behind that answer. He spotted a bit of parchment clutched in Hermione's hand. "What's that?"

She glanced down at her hand, as though needing to confirm that there actually was something there. "A letter from Ron," she said, looking back up at Harry reluctantly.

"Oh no," Harry said with a sinking realization. "The wedding."

Hermione nodded. "I was just about to wake you up." She took a deep breath. "It's today."

"Shit," Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know, but we'd better decide fast. If we're not there in the next hour, they're probably going to send out a search party."

Harry sighed. "Well, we have to go. Ron would kill us."

"We'll just have to bring him with us."

"Bring h...Hermione, have you lost your mind? The place is going to be swarming with Order members!" Harry briefly wondered why he was so concerned over Malfoy's safety, but the matter at hand was too pressing to think about that.

"Well, we can't leave him here either," Hermione said. "That spell's not going to last forever and we can't trust him to stay in the room. Short of tying him up again, we've got no choice."

Harry let out a short, angry burst of air. "And how do you propose we do this?"

"What about the Invis..." 

"I don't have it, remember? I left it on the Astronomy Tower."

"Oh, right." She paused for a moment. "Actually, I may have another idea." She moved over to her trunk, contemplating it for a moment. Then, she threw the lid open and started unloading everything.

"Hermione! What are you doing? We have to be there in an hour!"

Hermione paused. "You're right. I should speed this up." She pulled out her wand and waved it at her trunk. The contents rose out and were deposited in a pile next to her. She went over to over to Harry's trunk and did the same to it next.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked again.

"Remember that spell Mr. Weasley used to make the inside of his car bigger?" she said. "Well, I thought it might be useful, so I looked it up. We can use it on your trunk to put my things in with yours and then use it on mine to—"

"You're going to put Malfoy in a trunk?" Harry interrupted.

"Let's see you come up with a better idea." After a short silence, she continued. "Besides, the belladonna shouldn't wear off for a few more hours. That'll give us plenty of time to get him in the house and find somewhere to put him."

"Put him? Hermione, he's a captive, not a house plant."

"You know what I mean."

"What if he does wake up? He won't know what's going on. What if he starts yelling or banging on the walls of the trunk?"

"We'll put a full body bind on him. He'll still be scared, but at least he won't alert anyone."

Harry shook his head. He supposed none of this should surprise him. "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

Hermione glanced at Malfoy. "No, I don't," she said quietly. "That's what I'm afraid of. Why don't you go take care of any final business with your aunt and uncle? I'll finish up with the spells."

The last thing Harry wanted to do was to see his aunt or uncle, but he could see that Hermione didn't need his help. So, with no excuse to stay, he left the room, started down the stairs...

..and ran right into Uncle Vernon.

"Watch where you're going, boy," Uncle Vernon growled, pushing past him.

"I just thought you'd be wanting to know," Harry said stiffly, "that I'm leaving."

Uncle Vernon stopped in his tracks, turning back. "Going to that...friend of yours' house?"

"Yes." Harry paused for a moment. "I'm not coming back."

To his credit, Uncle Vernon made some attempt to keep his expression neutral, but he still had a look in his eye that clearly said he was overjoyed.

A loud thud coming from Harry's room followed by a muffled swear made both of them jump. Uncle Vernon looked around for a second before focusing on Harry again, his eyes flashing and his face turning an angry shade of red.

"Bye, Uncle Vernon," Harry said quickly, slipping under Uncle Vernon's outstretched arm and hurrying back to his room, shutting the door. "What happened?"

Hermione was pacing a small bit of the floor, shaking her hand. Before she could answer, however, the door burst open and Uncle Vernon stood in the doorway, looking every bit like an enraged bull.

"What the hell was that!" he yelled.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dursley," Hermione said, "I dropped my trunk lid on my hand." She held up her hand to show the spot, which was already starting to bruise.

"_Out!_" Uncle Vernon shouted. "_I want you both out of my house!_"

"You can Apparate, right?" Hermione said to Harry. When he nodded, she put a hand on her trunk and vanished with a loud crack.

Uncle Vernon stumbled backwards several steps. Harry took the opportunity and lunged for his trunk, already reviewing the procedure for Apparation in his mind. He had one last sight of his uncle charging toward him before he felt the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube. A moment later, his feet hit floor again, and he lost his balance, falling alongside his trunk.

"Nice landing, Harry." A hand closed around Harry's arm and yanked him to his feet. "Almost landed in the fireplace."

"Hi George," Harry muttered, straightening his robes. He glanced around and saw Hermione step out of the kitchen, dragging her trunk behind her.

Fred followed close behind. "Hey, you found one too," he said to his brother.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked. 

"Mum's upstairs helping out with the Fleur and the bridesmaids' robes," Fred said. "Everyone else is outside admiring the scenery. Well, except Great Aunt Muriel. I don't think she's woken up since she got here three days ago."

"We're the official welcoming committee," George said, giving a full bow.

"Welcoming committee?" Fred said, jerking his thumb back toward the kitchen, "I was sampling the food. Gotta make sure it's safe, you know?"

"We should probably bring our trunks upstairs," Hermione said quickly.

"Now, no need for that," George said, waving his hand. "Let us manly men take care of that for you." Before she could object, the twins each grabbed a side of the trunk and lifted.

"Bloody hell," Fred groaned. "What do you have in here? A dead body?"

Harry shot a glance at Hermione, but she stayed calm. "Just a lot of books," she said.

Fred gave her a mock look of horror and shifted the trunk handle into one hand. He drew out his wand and tapped the trunk. The strained look on his face disappeared, and, when George let go, the trunk didn't fall. George turned to Harry's trunk next and performed the same spell, lifting it effortlessly.

"We'll store these in our room for now," George said. "Not much room anywhere else." He saluted Harry and the twins started off up the stairs.

"What do we do now?" Harry asked in a furious whisper when the twins were out of earshot.

Hermione glanced at the staircase anxiously. "I'll wait an hour or so and try to sneak upstairs. If he's awake, I'll tell him what's going on."

Harry met her gaze for a moment, not sure what to say to that.

"What're you two whispering about?"

Harry glanced around and stifled a laugh. Ginny stood at the top of the staircase, wearing a set of expensive-looking pink dress robes that clashed horribly with her hair, which was styled with more curl than Hermione's.

"Not a word," she warned pointing a finger at Harry as she stepped clumsily down the stairs. Harry saw that she was wearing a rather tall high-heeled shoes. "Not one word."

"I take it you're a bridesmaid," Hermione said. She seemed to also be fighting to keep her face straight.

Ginny almost lost her balance and grabbed for the banister. "Don't remind me," she muttered.

Without a second thought, Harry rushed up to meet her halfway down the stairs, slipping an arm around her shoulders to steady her.

She glanced up at him, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, she smiled. "Thanks."

Harry helped her the rest of the way downstairs, trying to ignore the look Hermione was shooting at him.

"I swear," Ginny said then the reached the bottom, "if I ever meet the person who invented heels..." She made a rude gesture.

"We'd better go find Ron," Hermione said.

"Go," Ginny said, patting Harry's arm, "George said you were down here so I just wanted to say hello and snatch some food before I head back...up there." She glanced at the staircase again with apprehension. "See you two at the wedding."

Harry and Hermione said their goodbyes and headed outside. The front yard had been transformed. An arch had been set up several yards away, with rows and rows of chairs set out for the guests. The aisle between the chairs was set so that it lined up with the door. A large white table was sitting off to the left of the seating area, empty except for some flowers in the middle. A few dozen people were milling around the yard. Even though he didn't recognize most of them, the red and blond hair was enough to tell Harry which ones were Fleur's guests and which were Bill's.

Hermione immediately rounded on Harry. "What was that?"

"What?" he asked.

"What you just did."

Harry wondered if this was a trick. "I...helped Ginny down the stairs."

Hermione shook her head. "Never mind. Just...be careful. You don't want her to get the wrong idea."

Harry gave her a questioning look, but before he could say anything, Ron appeared beside them.

"About time you showed up," Ron said. "What took so long?"

"Had to pack up our trunks," Hermione said, giving Harry a look that clearly told him to keep his mouth shut.

"Well, at least you're here," Ron said. "Mum was ready to go marching into your aunt and uncle's house herself."

In spite of his worry, Harry chuckled a little at the mental image of Mrs. Weasley Apparating right in the middle of the Dursleys' kitchen.

Hermione bit her lip and glanced back at the house with wide eyes, wringing her hands. "Oh no...I think I might have left one of my books at the Dursleys. I need to check my trunk." She rushed back inside before anyone could stop her.

Ron shook his head sadly. "She's hopeless."

Harry forced a laugh and glanced back at the house, too. Inwardly, he admired Hermione for coming up with such a good excuse to check up on Malfoy.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked. "You look a little off."

"Fine," Harry said. "So, when does the wedding start?"

"Nightfall. Apparently Fleur insisted."

"Why?" Harry had never been to a wedding before, but he was almost certain that the few the Dursleys had gone to were during the day.

Ron shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe she didn't want people to see those hideous bridesmaids' robes."

Harry snorted.

"I take it you've seen them then?"

Harry nodded. "Ginny came down to say hello."

Ron let out a sputtering laugh. "I told Mum they were ugly. I had to duck a frying pan." He shot a glance at the people in the yard. "Do you want to go play some chess? I've been helping set up all morning. I don't want to get pulled into doing something else."

"Sure," Harry said, following him into the house.

"Oh, Harry dear." Mrs. Weasley, who had just walked into the room, carrying some pins and measuring tape. "I'm so glad you're here. Did your family give you any trouble?"

"My uncle looked like Christmas came early when I told him I wasn't coming back," Harry said.

He thought he saw pity in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, but it was gone a second later when she turned to Ron. "Is the set-up finished?"

"Yeah. All that's left is to bring out the food."

"Why don't you two go grab a bite to eat and head upstairs then? I need to get the guests rounded up and track down Bill." She set the pins and measuring tape on the table and walked out the door.

Harry and Ron made it to the second floor before they ran into someone again. No sooner had they stepped onto the landing, however, than Hermione stepped out of the twin's room, nearly running into them.

"Oh, hi," she said.

"Did you find your book?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Hermione said, "Do you mind if I talk to Harry alone for a second?"

Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I'll go set up the chess board," he said, his voice rigid, and he went up the stairs.

"He hasn't woken up," Hermione whispered. "I'll keep checking in on him every once in a while."

"What are you going to do with him when he does wake up?" Harry asked.

"We'll have to leave the body bind on him until after the wedding," Hermione said. "We can't be keeping watch over him or someone will know we're up to something. As long as we keep him in the trunk, no one should find him either."

"Hermione, if he wakes up in a full body bind, he's going to be scared to death."

"I know. That's why I'm going to keep checking up on him. When he does wake up, I'll tell him what's happening. As soon as the guests have gone home and we've figured out what we're going to do, we can lift the spell." She glanced up the stairs. "You'd better go. Ron's probably suspicious enough as it is."

Harry nodded, though the whole situation still made him uneasy. He didn't know about Malfoy, but if he woke up and found that he couldn't move, he would have a full scale panic attack. Even if Hermione only took five minutes to get to him, that was still five minutes of hell.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked when Harry arrived. He was sitting on his bed with his legs crossed and his back to the headboard, setting up a chessboard in front of him. Two cots had been moved into the room, leaving very little floor space. Harry guessed that Ron must have had relatives staying in his room.

"Nothing important," Harry said, looking around the room for something to change the subject. "Whose are those?" He pointed at two pairs of dress robes, one green and one blue.

"Oh, Fleur got those for us," Ron said. His eyes glazed over a bit when he said her name. "She insisted on knowing what everyone was going to wear, and, if she didn't approve, she got us new ones. She took one look at my dress robes and gave me these the next day. I told her you probably needed new ones, too, so she got you the green."

"Thanks," Harry said. He knew his old dress robes were probably several inches too short, so it was nice to have new ones. "Did you tell her to get blue ones for you?"

"No, but I'm glad she has better color sense than Mum."

"Then how did Ginny end up in pink?"

"Because Gabrielle looks good in pink," Ron said. When Harry looked at him questioningly, he continued. "She's the Maid of Honor."

"Oh." Now it made sense. Gabrielle was Fleur's sister, after all, and, as Harry considered it, she probably would look good in pink.

"How about a game?" Ron asked, waving his hand at the chessboard. "You can use Bill's old set for right now. Dad got him a new one, so he gave me these."

"All right," Harry sat at the foot of Ron's bed and the game began.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please read and review. Once again, I'm still working on where the next chapter is going to cut off, but I can give a tentative teaser. So, next chapter: a loan, a wedding, a drunken Weasley, and the psychological ramifications of a decision made in haste.


	4. Chapter 4: The Wedding

Author's note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I apologize for the long wait. I had school to contend with. Also, it seems that I got so far ahead of myself in writing this story that I just couldn't bring myself to go back and format the chapters for posting. This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but it just seemed like the right place to cut off. A reviewer of chapter one raised the point that an owl cannot look disappointed, so I thought I would address this. I have found that when people have pets for a while, they tend to assign human characteristics and emotions to them. The way I wrote the scene, I meant to imply that Harry was interpreting Hedwig's expression as being a look of disappointment. Sorry for any confusion this may have caused. Enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 4: The Wedding

Three games later, Ron shook his head sadly as Harry's king threw his crown at the feet of Ron's knight. "This is just pathetic."

"I checked your king," Harry said indignantly, "...once."

"Here, I want you to borrow that set," Ron said as he started gathering up his pieces. "Start playing against yourself. Try to build up some strategy."

"I don't know if I should be grateful or insulted," Harry said, but he gathered up the pieces anyway, sticking them in his pocket. Maybe he would practice. It would be nice to be able to beat Ron for once.

A loud hoot made Harry jump and look over towards the open window. Hedwig was sitting on a branch just outside, fixing Harry with a stare.

"Yeah," Ron said, also looking up, "we've been letting the owls stay outside. Keeps them happy and cuts down the cost of owl treats. I'm just glad Pig isn't biting me every time I put a letter on him anymore."

Harry smiled as Hedwig tucked her head under her wing to go to sleep. She did look happier.

The door opened at that moment, and Ginny peeked in. "Mum says get dressed," she said. "Be downstairs in fifteen minutes."

When she closed the door, Ron glanced out the window and rolled his eyes. "Wedding doesn't start for two hours," he muttered. "Why do we have to get dressed now?"

"Do you want to be the one to ask your mum that?" Harry asked.

"Good point."

They quickly put on their dress robes. Harry's sleeves were a bit too long, but it wasn't noticeable. He had to give Fleur credit; she had guessed the measurements pretty well. He spent a couple minutes furiously trying to flatten his hair, but to no avail. Finally, he gave up, and headed downstairs with Ron.

Mrs. Weasley met them at the bottom of the stairs, stopping them so she could straighten Ron's robes and also try to flatten Harry's hair. "Go on," she said, motioning them toward the door. "The bridesmaids will seat you."

Harry glanced at Ron, but he just shrugged and went to the door.

Outside, the sun was just starting to set. Several dozen orbs of light hovered in the air all around the yard, illuminating it in a soft light. The chairs were almost full now, some people talking quietly while others just looked around. The bridesmaids were seating the men while Bill, Charlie, and the twins were seating the women.

Gabrielle, who had just led an old man to one of the seats in the back, came over and offered an arm to Ron. As she led him away, Ginny approached, smiling.

"You look good," she said, offering Harry her arm.

"You too," Harry said as they started down the aisle.

She laughed under her breath. "Don't joke."

"I'm not joking," he said. "You look beautiful."

Ginny stopped in her tracks, her eyes locking with his. She opened her mouth, but closed it quickly and looked away. "You're sitting here," she said. "We'll talk after the wedding." She hurried off as fast as she could on heels.

Harry looked after her for a moment, then looked around at his seat in confusion. This couldn't be right. She was putting him in the second row, right next to Ron. He shouldn't be sitting up here with Bill's brothers; he should be in the back with the non-family members.

"Well, don't stand there gaping, dear," Mrs. Weasley appeared at Harry's side, being escorted by Bill. "Sit down."

"But..." Harry trailed off as Mrs. Weasley took her seat in the front row. He numbly moved over to sit next to Ron. A few moments later, a red-headed boy he didn't recognize sat next to him.

"Hi Thomas," Ron said. "Harry, this is my cousin."

"You're Harry Potter, then?" the boy said, reaching out a hand. "Nice to meet you."

After Harry shook his hand, Thomas and Ron a heated discussion about whether the Chuddly Cannons had a chance at the next World Cup, and Harry started to feel a bit more relaxed. As he glanced around, he saw Hermione being led down the aisle by Charlie. She looked rather stunning herself in blue-violet dress robes and with her hair pulled into a tight bun.

Harry sent her a questioning look, and she shook her head slightly. His stomach did a small flip. Malfoy should have woken up by now. What if the Belladonna was too strong and had poisoned him?

"Whoa," Ron said under his breath, starting Harry out of his thoughts. He also had turned around to look at Hermione.

Harry forced a smile and turned back around, leaning back in his chair. By now, everyone had been seated and the ceremony had begun.

The wedding seemed to last an eternity. The minister and Bill took their places as the end of the aisle first. Then, the groomsmen and bridesmaids walked down the aisle in pairs, moving to stand on either side of the arch. The ring bearer and flower girl came next: two young blond children who looked so similar they could have been twins.

By the time Fleur and her father appeared in the doorway and began to walk down the aisle, Harry was already fidgeting in his seat. He looked back at Hermione again. She seemed just as anxious as he was, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. They exchanged a look before Harry faced forward and tried to pay attention.

When finally the minister told the couple to kiss and the crowd burst into applause, Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Finally," Ron said when people started to get up around them, twisting his back to stretch the muscles. "These chairs are horrible. What say we grab some punch?"

Harry glanced over just in time to see the food appear on the previously empty table on the other side of the yard. "You go on," Harry said. "I think I'm going to turn in early."

"Oh, you're no fun," Ron said, clapping Harry on the back and hurrying off to get in line for the punchbowl. No sooner had Harry stood up and popped his back, however, than he heard a voice behind him.

"At least you had a chair."

Harry turned to find Ginny standing behind him. She was holding her shoes in one hand, standing barefoot.

"Do you want to take a walk?" she continued, looking up at him hopefully.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I can't. I...I'm just too tired. I was actually about to head inside."

"Oh," Ginny said, her disappointment poorly veiled.

"Tomorrow," Harry said, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I promise we'll talk tomorrow."

"Yeah," she said with a small smile. She pulled her hand away and moved off to join the rest of the guests.

Harry spotted Hermione standing alone up by the house and hurried over. "He didn't wake up?" he whispered as they entered the kitchen.

"I didn't get another chance to look in," Hermione said. She was walking at double speed, and Harry had to jog to keep up. "Mrs. Weasley made me try on my robes and by the time she finished with my hair, it was time for the wedding."

"So he's been lying up there for over four hours?"

They had reached the stairs now and Hermione took them two at a time. Everyone was outside, so there was no need to keep up any pretenses about what they were doing. The made it to the second floor and burst into the twins' room. Hermione went to her trunk and threw the lid open.

Harry squinted at the trunk, trying to fight his vision's natural urge to blur. On the one hand, the inside of the trunk was stretched out so that he could see the entirety of Malfoy, but the outside dimensions of the trunk looked exactly the same. The mere effort of trying to make sense of the image sent a lance of pain through his eyes.

"Don't try to focus," Hermione said. She was staring at a spot on the wall above the trunk. "Relax your eyes."

Harry tried to do as she said and, slowly, the pain ebbed and he could see Malfoy. He lay in the bottom of the trunk, stiff as a board, his eyes still closed.

"Damn it," Hermione said, getting up and starting to pace. "Why did I give him that potion? I should've just left it alone."

Harry, however, was still looked at Malfoy, and something clicked in his mind. He got up and moved over to Hermione, grabbing her by the shoulders and speaking in an undertone. "Hermione? Hermione!"

"What?"

"Did it ever occur to you that he might be faking it?"

She stopped in her tracks. "What?"

"Listen to his breathing," Harry said. "Does he sound asleep to you?"

She paused for a moment. "You're right."

"I have a hunch. Take the body-bind off of him."

Hermione hesitated, but did as Harry asked. Malfoy's body went slack and his head rolled to one side, his mouth opening slightly.

Harry went back to the trunk and kneeled again. "Malfoy," he said, shaking the boy's shoulder, "It's over. You can open your eyes now."

Malfoy's limbs stiffened and his jaw clenched shut again. Harry thought maybe he should try again, but finally, Malfoy's eyes opened into slits and he slowly turned his head to look up. The gaze that met Harry's was filled with such a deep-seated despair that Harry recoiled, turning on Hermione.

Any anger he felt toward her instantly turned to pity, however, when he saw the look of absolute horror on her face. She had meant well. He could not possibly have expected her to see this far ahead.

"What are we going to do with him?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said, "but we have to get him out of here. It looks like every guest in the house stored their luggage in here. Which means they'll all be heading up when the reception's over."

"Are there any empty rooms?" Harry asked.

Hermione thought for a moment. "Bill's should be. I saw his and Fleur's luggage already packed downstairs, they'll be leaving for their honeymoon after the reception. I doubt anyone will be going back up there."

"That's pretty risky. What if someone does show up?"

"Then I'll think of something. I'm going to go up and check to be sure no one else is staying in that room. You bring him up."

Harry nodded and, when Hermione had left, turned his attention to the trunk. "All right, Malfoy," he said. "Get up."

At first, he thought that maybe Malfoy hadn't heard him. Finally, though, he reached up with a shaky hand, grasping the edge of the trunk and slowly pulling himself up into a sitting position. He didn't seem willing or able to move beyond that.

Harry sighed and reached out, but Malfoy recoiled sharply. "Relax," Harry said. "I'm just helping you stand up." He tried again, grasping Malfoy's arms and pulling him to his feet.

A strong, vile smell hit Harry's nostrils so hard he nearly let go of Malfoy. It occurred to Harry that Malfoy had probably been wearing the same robes for at least a week. That combined with the fact that he had been stuck in that trunk all day produced an odor that nearly knocked Harry off his feet.

"Shower first then," Harry muttered, breathing through his mouth. He made sure Malfoy had his footing before letting go and moving to his own trunk, throwing it open and rummaging through it. He knew he wouldn't find any clothes that fit Malfoy, since the majority of it did not even fit him, but he managed to find some that he thought would work for the time being.

Getting Malfoy into the bathroom presented a challenge. He was starting to regain some of his pride and didn't want Harry to help him across the room. His legs, however, did not seem to be obeying him, and he stumbled on every other step, forcing Harry to support him anyway. Finally, after several near falls, they made it to the bathroom.

"Go on," Harry said, motioning toward the shower. "Get on with it. Just try to keep your bandages out of the water; it might be a while before we can replace them."

For one horrifying moment, Harry thought he was going to have to help Malfoy with this part, too. But then, Malfoy blinked, the fog in his eyes lifted slightly, and he started to undo his robes. Harry glanced the other way, not daring to look back until he heard the shower curtain slide shut. He wrinkled his nose at the soiled robes on the ground. There would probably be no salvaging them.

A knock on the door nearly made Harry jump out of his skin. "There's someone in here," he called.

"Harry," the muffled voice on the other side said, "it's me. You were taking a while getting upstairs, I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Hermione?" Harry paused, figuring he had better make sure. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah."

"He needed a shower. I thought we'd better get it out of the way while the house is still empty."

"Good thinking. I'll keep an eye out by the staircase in case someone comes in early."

"Thanks," Harry called.

Malfoy seemed to take ages to finish his shower. Harry stood with his back against the door, keeping his eyes focused on a spot on the wall. He had the distinct feeling that he should not be here, that even watching the shadow on the curtain was somehow a violation. It was certainly not as though he had never seen another boy undress or in a shower before; he had been on the Quidditch team after all. But in this case, his whole reason for being there was to keep watch. Just how close of a watch was he supposed to keep?

The water shut off, startling Harry back to reality. The curtain swept back and he had a brief glimpse of Malfoy's dripping wet form before he averted his eyes again. Out of the very corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy stepping out of the shower, one hand pressed against the wall and the other holding onto the curtain to keep himself from falling. Harry waited as Malfoy dried off and then gestured at the clothes he had brought in. Malfoy didn't move for a second, but then he reached for the shirt without complaint.

Harry waited for Malfoy to finish pulling his trousers on before turning back. The clothes which were normally big on Harry were ridiculously huge on Malfoy, the sleeves of the t-shirt hanging past his elbows and the trousers seeming in danger of falling down, even with the belt Harry had included.

Harry tore his eyes away and turned toward the door, pushing it open a bit. "Hermione," he whispered when he spotted her across the hall. "Is it safe?"

She nodded. "Yeah, nobody's been by. I don't know how much longer the reception will last though, so we'd better get him upstairs."

Harry pushed the door open and beckoned for Malfoy to come out. Hermione let out a small gasp the moment she saw him, then quickly rearranged her face into a mask and exchanged a glance with Harry before starting upstairs. Harry let Malfoy walk ahead of him, trailing a few steps behind just in case he stumbled again.

They made it up to Bill's room without incident. Malfoy did trip a few times, but he always managed to catch himself before he fell. Hermione pushed the door open and beckoned them inside.

"I'll stay and watch him," she said. "If Ginny asks, I'll just tell her I wasn't tired and wanted to go somewhere to read. You better go upstairs before Ron notices you're gone."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

"I'm sure. Now go. He's going to be suspicious enough as it is."

Harry took one last look at Malfoy, who was staring at a spot on the wall like it was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. "Good luck," he said, shutting the door. He stood with his back to the wall for a moment, trying to shake the feeling that this was a huge mistake.

"Harry!"

Harry's nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around. Ron stood a few stairs down, leaning heavily on the banister, his cheeks tinged pink.

"What're you doing down here?" Ron said, squinting.

"I...I couldn't sleep after all, so I was coming down to see if the reception was still going," Harry said quickly.

"Oh." Ron was talking rather louder than normal. "Well, it's over. Just a couple of the relatives left finishing off the punch."

"Punch?" Harry muttered. "Ron, are you drunk?"

"Of course not," Ron said indignantly, attempting to take the last few steps and falling to his knees, only just catching the banister to keep from falling on his face.

Harry let out a snort of laughter and stepped forward to pull Ron to his feet. "Sure you're not." He wrapped Ron's arm around his shoulders and helped him the rest of the way up the stairs. He pretended to listen to the rest of Ron's one-sided conversation, which was why he stumbled on the fifth landing, just in front of Ron's door, when he heard Hermione's name.

"What?" he asked.

"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked. "I tried to find her."

"I think she went to find an empty room," Harry said. It was probably best to keep all the lies the same. "Wanted to do some reading."

Ron chuckled as though Harry had made some sort of joke and stumbled into his room, collapsing on his bed.

Harry shook his head and stepped inside, closing the door and thanking his luck that Ron wasn't asking too many questions yet.

- - - - -

Author's note: Please read and review. Again, sorry for the long wait. I'll try to be quicker with the next chapter, which should be longer than this one. A tentative teaser: two hungover Weasleys: one embarrassed and one smug, a tiny nugget of slash (not of the H/D variety), more chess, a rather large edition of the Daily Prophet, and someone puts their penetrating mind to the situation, invariably coming up with the wrong conclusion. It will also contain a small reference to incest, but trust me, it won't be anything too severe and it probably will never be mentioned again. Now, this is all conjecture, but it is looking very likely that the main slash will begin in chapter 6. If not, then definitely in chapter 7.

Now, I feel I must say something before I go, in light of the publication of the seventh book approaching. Unless something so large happens that I simply cannot bear to write this story any longer, I will continue to post this as an AU. Also, the plot is rather firmly etched in stone. Therefore, any similarities to the seventh book which may occur will be completely coincidental. I mostly type this in reference to the Horcruxes. I have a set idea in my mind of what they should be and how they should work in this story. Book seven won't change that. Thank you, and goodbye for now.


	5. Chapter 5: Tense Relations

Author's Note: Thanks so much to all those who reviewed the previous chapters. Just as I thought, this chapter turned out a fair bit longer than the last one. Enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 5: Tense Relations

In spite of his exhaustion, Harry woke before dawn too anxious to go back to sleep. He got up, adjusted his now very wrinkled dress robes, and sneaked toward the door. By the looks of Ron, though, he probably could have screamed at the top of his lungs and not woken him. He went down to the twins room, which was now nearly empty save for his and Hermione's trunks, and changed into clean clothes before heading downstairs.

When Harry reached the kitchen, he found Hermione already there, wearing a dressing gown and clutching a cup of tea between her hands. She straightened up when Harry stepped in, but he could see the dark circles under her eyes.

"Morning," he said, sitting across from her. "I thought you'd sleep in."

She shook her head. "I couldn't sleep. Besides, I had to make sure he didn't try to run off."

"Is he still up there? What if Mrs. Weasley or someone tries to go in?"

"I locked the door. It won't keep anyone out, but at least it'll give him enough warning so he can find someplace to hide."

"Is he still...you know?"

She nodded. "He didn't sleep either. Just kept staring at that wall." She paused, taking a sip and then looked up, her eyes distant and haunted. "I swear, if I'd known he would react like that..."

"It's okay," Harry said, reaching across the table to grasp her hand. "You couldn't have known."

A loud groan from the doorway made Harry withdraw his hand very quickly. Ron stood in the doorway, still in his disheveled dress robes, clutching his head.

"When did the sun get so bright?" he muttered, stumbling over to the nearest chair, folding his arms on the table, and burying his face in them.

"Rough night?" Harry asked.

"It's a little hazy." Ron's head shot up. "Ginny hasn't been down yet, has she?"

"No, why?"

Ron just groaned again and put his head back down. Harry tried to exchange a look with Hermione, but she had grown distant again.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Weasley walked in on them, her hands on her hips. "What a sorry bunch you are," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Would you like some breakfast?"

Harry shrugged. He was not really hungry. Hermione gave no reaction. Ron just let out yet another muffled groan.

"Now, let's have none of that," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'll make you some toast."

When Mrs. Weasley had filled a plate and placed it on the table, Hermione finally spoke up. "Mrs. Weasley, has everyone gone home?"

"Yes, dear. Arthur's gone to work, so it's just the four of us and Ginny."

"Well, if you don't mind, I thought Harry and I might have our own rooms. I mean, we have to move our stuff out of the Fred and George's room anyway, and since no one else is staying..."

"Of course," Mrs. Weasley said. "That sounds like a fine idea. If you want, one of you could take Bill's old room. It's nice and big."

"Maybe I should just stay in Fred and George's room," Harry said, catching on to what Hermione was doing. He noticed Ron lift his head high enough to give him a questioning glance, but ignored it. "I mean, my trunk is already in there..."

"That sounds fine," Mrs. Weasley said, wiping her hands on her robes. "I need to go do some final cleaning up outside." She glanced at Ron. "I'll let you off the hook this time, but no potions for your headache. You need to learn your lesson."

After she left, Ron looked like he wanted to say something, but Ginny walked in at that moment, and he turned bright red, quickly tucking his face out of sight again. 

"Good morning," Ginny said brightly, sitting at the table and selecting a piece of toast off the pile.

"I take it you didn't have the punch," Harry said.

"Oh no, I did. My head is splitting right now." She glanced at Ron and seemed to be repressing a laugh.

"Please no." Ron was barely audible.

"Oh, relax," Ginny said. "I won't tell them. Why would I when I have such wonderful blackmail?"

Ron lifted his head again, caught sight of the toast, and a greenish tinge crept over his face. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the loo." He got up and hurried out of the room, nearly knocking his chair over.

"I'd better go move my trunk," Hermione said in a monotone, getting up to leave too.

"Is she all right?" Ginny asked. "She was supposed to stay in my room, but I didn't see her."

"She said she couldn't sleep, so she wanted to get some reading done," Harry said, picking up a piece of toast. "She suggested that we all take our own rooms, so she's moving her trunk up to Bill's old room."

"Good idea. I mean, Hermione's great, but you wouldn't believe how loud she snores. It's like sleeping across from a foghorn.

Harry choked on his bite of toast, pressing a hand over his chest and coughing. "Wow, you'd never expect that," he said. "I always figured she'd be a quiet sleeper."

"Yeah, I know." Ginny dropped her half-eaten piece of toast and leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. She glanced off to one side, as though preoccupied by something.

Harry remembered the promise he'd made the day before. "You want to take a walk?" he asked.

"Sure," Ginny said, running her fingers through her hair. "I could use the fresh air. My head is killing me."

They left the house and started walking. They waved to Mrs. Weasley, who was working on picking up the copious amount of trash that littered the yard, levitating it into a large waste bin Besides that, they mostly kept their eyes cast downward, moving slowly around the edge of the yard.

"I'm sorry about how I acted," Harry said. "I mean, at the funeral."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.

"I shouldn't have broken up with you there."

"Did you mean the things you said?"

"Well...yeah, but..."

She shrugged. "Then you have nothing to be sorry for."

"But you're upset."

"No, I'm not."

Harry stopped as they stepped behind the shed, reaching out to grasp her arm. "Yes, you are."

She turned back, met his eyes briefly, and then looked away. "So, I am," she said, "but I'd be upset no matter how it ended. It's not your fault." She tried to turn away, but Harry held on, settling his hands on her shoulders.

"I just want to know that you're all right," he said. When she didn't answer, he reached up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ears.

He didn't even notice that he had started kissing her until she pulled her head back. He felt his cheeks grow warm, suddenly very aware of how close they were.

"I can't," Ginny said softly, backing out of his grasp. She took a took a deep breath and steadied her voice. "We can't."

"You're right," Harry said, trying to regain control of himself. "I'm sorry."

She sighed and started walking again. "When are you going to stop apologizing?"

"Hard to say," Harry said, trying to think of how to change the subject. "So, what's up with Ron? Seemed like more than a hangover bothering him."

It worked. She grinned. "Promise you won't tell him?"

"Of course."

"Well, we were all drinking and laughing. I guess he and Thomas had one too many and wandered off at some point. Anyway, I dropped my glass by the table and when I bent to pick it up..." She giggled.

"What?"

"They were snogging under the table."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You mean, Ron...with your _cousin_?"

Ginny nodded. "But listen, don't tell Ron I told you. He'll strangle me in my sleep."

"I...just give me...your _cousin?!_"

"To be fair, he's not blood-related." Her grin widened. "And I'm almost certain I heard Ron call him Hermione at one point. I think Thomas called him Peter, which brings up a whole new set of questions. Did I mention they were really drunk?"

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "You do know he's going to murder you when he gets rid of his headache, right?"

She winked. "He can try."

They laughed again and the tension lifted. The topic moved to quidditch as they discussed last years matches and new strategies that they would never get to try. The conversation soon drifted back to Ron, however, and by the time they reached the door, they were in stitches once more.

Hermione was sitting in the kitchen when they came back inside. She seemed to be in a better mood herself, though still a bit gloomy. "What's so funny?" she asked.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. "You don't want to know," he said.

"I'm sure I don't," Hermione said. "Harry, can I speak to you for a moment?"

"Don't mind me," Ginny said, rubbing her hands together. "I'm going to find Ron. I think a little torture is in order." She walked out of the room.

"I got all my things moved upstairs," Hermione said. She lowered her voice. "And I got him moved into Fred and George's room."

"Good," Harry said, going to sit down.

"Are you sure you want to do this? It's a lot to handle for one person, especially with the way he is right now."

"Yeah, I'm sure. Besides, it's better if only one of us is looking after him. That way you can cover for me if someone starts getting suspicious."

"Well, I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of setting up some spells for you."

Harry hesitated. "What spells?"

"Give me your hand." Hermione took out her wand and tapped Harry's hand. He felt a slight itching, as though bugs were crawling under his skin, but it soon dissipated. "I used a recognition lock. As long as you remember to lock the door, it'll only open for those it recognizes. Right now, that's just you and me."

"And what do I say when someone asks why they couldn't get in?"

"Tell them I told you about the spell and you thought it was worth trying out. That's the only big spell. I also put some Imperturbable charms up, but the door isn't sound proof, so you'll still need to be careful. At least Fred and George have a bathroom connected to their room, so you won't have to deal with having to sneak him out."

Harry nodded. It all sounded well thought-out. Still, paranoia was getting the better of him.

"I guess I'd better go up and check on him," Harry said, standing.

"Wait." Hermione pulled out her wand, waved it at the plate on the table, which still contained a few pieces of toast. "He hasn't eaten in a while; you'd better bring this up to him. On a napkin though, we have enough to worry about without having to sneak dishes back down here."

Harry nodded and loaded the toast, which Hermione had warmed up with her spell, onto a napkin. He took a deep breath, and started upstairs.

He counted himself lucky that he did not run into Ron or Ginny on his way. When he reached the door though, he glanced around one last time before reaching for the knob. The moment his hand touched it, he heard the lock click and he pushed the door open.

He did not spot Malfoy at first, and a brief panic overtook him at the thought of Malfoy roaming free in the Burrow. Finally though, he caught sight of him sitting cross-legged in the corner, his eyes turned upward toward the ceiling.

"Malfoy?" Harry said tentatively

"I never knew a ceiling could be _that_ uneven," Malfoy said.

Harry glanced up at the lumpy ceiling in spite of himself. He had to admit, Malfoy had a point. "I brought food," he said, setting the napkin on the bed closest to the window. "It's not exactly gourmet, but it's all I could get."

Malfoy finally turned his attention to Harry and got up, moving over to sit on the bed. He picked up a piece of toast, sniffed it, and took a bite. For a moment, he looked very much like he was going to be sick.

"How long has this been sitting out, Potter?" he asked, making a hacking sound.

"I dunno. An hour?" Harry said. "Hermione reheated it."

Malfoy blew out a breath of air and tossed the toast back on the napkin. "Sadistic bitch," he muttered.

"Shut up," Harry said reflexively.

Malfoy glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye. "After what she did, I think I'm being generous."

With some effort, Harry reined in his temper. "We were pressed for time. It's all we could come up with." When he did not receive a reply, he forced himself to ask the question. "Are you all right?"

"Don't feign concern, Potter." Malfoy's attention moved once again to the wall. "It's unbecoming."

Harry gave a frustrated sigh and went over to his trunk. When he opened it, he found that Hermione had already unloaded all of her stuff, and he saw his and Malfoy's wand sticking out from underneath a stack of shirts. Pushing these things out of the way, he pulled out his chess set and the set Ron had lent to him and carried them back to his bed with his chess board. He set up the pieces and started a game against himself.

Half an hour later, Harry was certain he was the only person in history to play a game against himself and still be losing. Since he could see every move ahead, he had not managed to knock a single piece off the board. The pieces kept shouting suggestions at him, which only served to confuse him even further.

"You're pathetic, Potter."

Harry's head snapped up to see Malfoy watching the game with unconcealed amusement. "Do you mind?" he said.

"Not in the least," Malfoy said, "but if I might offer some advice—"

"I don't want your advice, Malfoy."

"—playing against yourself only works when you have a strategy in the first place."

"Thank you for that wonderful insight. Now, if you don't mind, I'm trying to concentrate."

Malfoy smirked and stood up moving over to sit on the end of Harry's bed.

Harry jumped, his back hitting the headboard hard in his rush to sit as far away from Malfoy as he could. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm showing you how it's done," Malfoy said. His hands moved swiftly over the chessboard, moving Bill's pieces back to their starting point. When Harry made no move, he did the same with the rest of the pieces and crossed his arms. "Your move. I assume you know that much."

Harry glared, directed one of his pawns to move forward.

Malfoy moved a pawn to match Harry's and the game commenced.

"You're one to talk, Malfoy," Harry said as he took out a knight, adding it to a small pile of pawns. "What is this wondrous strategy..." Harry stopped talking as Malfoy's other knight made his move, knocking Harry's queen off the board with one swift strike.

"You were saying?" Malfoy said.

Harry made to take out the knight with his king, but Malfoy shook his head.

"Can't do it. You'll be in check."

Harry's shoulders slumped and he moved a pawn.

Before Harry knew it, all he had left were a few pawns and a lonely rook to protect his king. Malfoy, in the meantime, had lost all of his pawns, a rook, and a knight, but seemed unfazed.

Two moves later...

Malfoy moved his bishop and folded his arms. "Checkmate."

Harry stared at the board, trying to figure out where he went wrong. He never thought much of it when he lost to Ron, since he expected to, but losing to Malfoy was just embarrassing.

"You're too protective of your pawns," Malfoy said as he collected his pieces and set them back up.

"What?" Harry said, doing the same.

"Pawns are only useful if you can get them across the board. Otherwise, they're expendable."

Another game began. Only ten minutes in, Malfoy made a disgusted noise.

"Do you understand the meaning of the word, 'expendable?'" Malfoy asked.

"I don't need your strategies," Harry snapped.

"Oh, because yours works so well? Sacrifice the many to save the few. That's how the game is played."

Malfoy's mantra struck a chord deep in Harry's mind and he glared, feeling the rage surging inside him.

At that moment, the door opened. "Harry, it's..." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione freeze in the doorway, her eyes darting between them. "What's going on?"

"Your boyfriend's a sore loser," Malfoy said, standing up and moving back to sit on his own bed. He made a show of throwing the now very old toast into the waste bin.

Harry pushed his anger down and turned to Hermione. "What?"

She flinched slightly. "It's time for lunch," she said. "I wouldn't have come up, but Ron's been asking where you are all morning."

Harry got up and went to the door. When he glanced back, he saw Malfoy leaning back against the headboard, his arms folded behind his head. He shut the door.

"You were playing chess?" Hermione asked in an undertone as they started downstairs.

"Well, Ron lent me Bill's old set so I could practice," Harry said. "Malfoy just kind of jumped in and started playing."

She furrowed her brow, as though trying to make sense of it. "Well," she said after a moment, "at least he seems to be getting better."

He did not have a chance to reply, as they had arrived in the kitchen. Ron and Ginny were already there, sitting as far away from each other as possible. Mrs. Weasley was loading up plates with chicken and potatoes. Harry and Hermione sat across from each other.

"There you are," Mrs. Weasley said. "I thought I'd have to come get you." She put a plate in front of each of them. "There's plenty, so help yourself when you run out. I need to make a trip to Diagon Alley."

"I'll go with you," Ginny said immediately, dropping her fork.

"Oh, you don't need to do that," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'm just picking up a few potion supplies."

Ginny fixed her with a look. "I'm going."

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, then sighed. "All right, let's go then."

"What was that about?" Harry asked when they left the room.

Ron, who still seemed to be suffering the effects of his hangover, glanced up. "You haven't been reading the _Prophet_? There's been three Death Eater attacks in the last two days."

"What?" Hermione said, beating Harry to it. "Who was attacked?"

Ron shrugged. "They didn't release names, just that two of the victims died."

"Do the Aurors have any leads?" she asked.

"Well, the surviving victim said Bellatrix Lestrange led the attack. He also said they seemed to be looking for someone."

Harry shot a quick glance at Hermione, but she kept her focus on Ron. "Do they have any idea who they might be looking for?"

Ron shook his head. "The article didn't say anything. They put pictures of known Death Eaters in the same issue. Took up five pages."

"Do you still have that paper?" Hermione asked.

"I think Mum kept it. In that drawer over there."

Hermione went over and got it out, sitting back in her chair and flicking it open.

"Don't know why you want it," Ron continued.

"We should know what they look like," Hermione said, "in case we see any of them."

"Right." Ron glanced down at his plate again, made a face, and pushed it away. "So, have you found anything on Horcruxes?"

Harry gave a start. In the last couple days, he'd managed to completely forget about the Horcruxes.

"Nothing," Hermione said, putting the paper down for a moment. "No books, no spells, not even a passing reference. I've tried everything I can think of."

"What about R.A.B? Any idea who it is?"

"None."

"So, essentially we're in the same place we were two weeks ago."

Hermione nodded.

Ron sighed. "If we're done here then, I'm supposed to weed the garden today. Mum will have my head if I don't get it done. Care to join me?"

"Maybe in a little bit," Hermione said. "Harry, can I have a word?"

Ron glanced between them suspiciously for a moment, before finally heading out the door.

"You need to stop doing that," Harry said. "He's going know something's up."

"Never mind that," Hermione said, "look."

Harry's gaze followed to the spot on the newspaper she pointed at and felt a deep dread settle in his stomach. Right in the middle of the page, next to a picture of Lucius, which had the word "Captured" stamped across it, was Draco Malfoy.

"The Death Eaters aren't the only ones hunting him," she said.

"Still," Harry said, "if we got the Order involved, maybe they could..."

She shook her head, pointing at the paper again. "Read the captioning."

Draco Malfoy

Age: 17

Crimes: aiding and abetting known criminals, evading arrest, conspiracy to commit murder, two counts of attempted murder, accessory to murder

Ministry Recommended Sentence: Dementor's Kiss

For more information: See 19 June 1997 issue.

"Even if we could get the Order on our side," Hermione said, "I don't think Dumbledore himself could have gotten the Ministry to reduce that sentence. And even if we did get him an Azkaban sentence instead, the Death Eaters would find him."

"So, we're stuck with him."

She nodded. "I can't think of a single person who would willingly shield him from the Ministry. I'm not even sure of it myself."

"We have to," Harry said immediately. He forced himself to look Hermione in the eye. "I was there. I saw the look in his eyes. He was scared out of his mind. He's done horrible things, but he's not a murderer. He doesn't deserve to die."

She met his gaze, though her eyes were uncertain. "I know." She reached forward and lightly squeezed his hand. "And who knows? Maybe it'll just be temporary until we can come up with a better solution. But we will get through this."

Harry gave a small smile, grateful for the small bit of reassurance.

Then, the door opened and a voice broke the silence. "What's taking you two so long? I thought you were..." Ron stood frozen in the doorway, his mouth open slightly.

Harry turned his head toward Ron at the same moment that Hermione jerked her hand back, standing up. "Ron," she said, her voice quiet.

"I should have known," Ron said. "You two sneaking around, acting so weird..."

Harry made the connection and leapt to his feet as well. "Ron, it's not—"

"Oh, don't tell me it's not what I think."

"No, really—"

"Then tell me. Tell me what this is."

Harry hesitated and glanced at Hermione, but she was still staring at Ron, her face pale and her expression of mixed surprise and apprehension. "We were just talking," he said. "Come on, Ron, you know us!"

Ron looked between them for a moment, during which time Harry wished that Hermione would stop looking so guilty. Finally, he sighed. "I have chores to do," he said. Before the others could object, he stepped back outside, slamming the door.

"Well, that went well," Harry muttered. He glanced at Hermione, but she hadn't moved. "Hermione? _Hermione!_"

She flinched and blinked several times. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know what came over me."

"It's all right," Harry said. "It's not like I did any better."

"Oh my God," Hermione said, sitting back down and holding her head in her hands. "What are we going to do? Ron thinks...and if he tells...they're going to..."

"Hermione!" Harry moved around the table and seized her wrists, mostly because she looked like she was about to pull her hair out. She was usually so composed; it scared him to see her like this. "Calm down. It's like you said. We will get through this. We'll figure something out."

Hermione stared back at him for a moment and then, finally, relaxed a bit. Harry released her immediately in case Ron, or worse, someone else, walked in on them.

"Maybe we should tell Ron the truth," Harry suggested.

Hermione shook her head. "Not yet. Not until we have a better idea of what we're going to do. He's going to have a hard enough time with it as it is."

"Are you sure?"

She took a deep breath and nodded. "I'll try to convince him that we're not together. In the meantime, we probably should cut down on the private talks. Try to act as natural as possible."

"Right."

She shook herself and stood up. "I'm going to go see if he needs any help. It's probably best if you don't come. I doubt he can deal with both of us right now."

Harry nodded. "I should probably take some food up for Malfoy, anyway. Good luck."

She smiled and gave him a quick hug, which seemed more for her own reassurance than anything else. Then, she turned to the door and walked out.

After a few moments, Harry tore his eyes from the door and turned his attention toward the food. He remembered Hermione's warning about not taking dishes upstairs, so he grabbed a few napkins. He knew better than to attempt to spoon potatoes onto a napkin, and he did not want to have to mess with silverware anyway, so he focused on the chicken instead, wrapping it up carefully so he would not drop any. Then, he headed upstairs.

- - - - -

Author's note: Please read and review. The way things are looking, I should be able to squeeze in at least one more chapter before book 7 comes out. I've got a pretty good idea of where I'm going to cut chapter 6 off, so my preview should be fairly accurate. Next chapter: a fake illness, a romantic moment cut short, and, in a moment of weakness, Harry creates himself a whole new set of issues, albeit with a little bit of help from his new roommate. That's right, folks, it's the moment you've all been waiting for. Next chapter, the slash begins.


	6. Chapter 6: Well Played

Author's Note: Well, I did it. True to my word, here's one more chapter before DH comes out. As I said, I fully intend to continue this story as an AU, unless either I am affected so deeply by DH that I can't bear to continue or my plot ideas are so close to those of DH that I run the risk of being called out for plagiarism. The latter is highly unlikely. As I said before, no matter what happens in DH, I won't change a single aspect of this story's plot. It would be kind of hard to, considering that 172 pages of this story are already written in rough form. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 6: Well Played

It seemed while Harry was gone, Malfoy had moved the chessboard over to his own bed. He sat hunched over it, his brow furrowed as he contemplated his next move. If he noticed Harry standing there, he did not show it.

"I thought you said playing against yourself doesn't work," Harry said.

"No," Malfoy said, "I said it only works if you actually have a strategy." He moved the black queen. "Checkmate."

"I brought more food. I promise, it's fresh this time." He set the napkins on the foot of Malfoy's bed and sat on the edge of his own.

Malfoy moved the board aside and reached for one of the napkins, unwrapping it. He put on the same production he had with the toast, picking up a piece of chicken between two fingers and sniffing it before taking a small bite. Either he had no complaints or he was too hungry to voice any, because a few minutes later, all that remained was bones. Harry watched with amazement and some guilt as he realized how long Malfoy had gone without eating.

When Malfoy was done, he wiped his hands on the napkins and threw the remnants in the trash, turning his attention back to the chessboard. "If you're done staring, Potter, I'm working on something."

Harry narrowed his eyes and looked away. He needed something to do. After a moment of thought, he got up and went to his trunk to get one of his Defense books.

He read for about half an hour before Malfoy interrupted him. "Studying, Potter? I thought Granger handled that bit."

"If it's any of your business," Harry said, "I'm looking up defensive spells."

"Again with the defense," Malfoy muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Life is like chess, Potter. You can't spend the whole time defending. Without a good offense, you've lost already."

"I'm not taking advice from a Death Eater, Malfoy."

Malfoy did not answer for a moment, staring down at the board. Then, he moved the black knight, and the white king took off his crown, throwing it to the ground. "Then you'll always lose."

Harry felt his anger rising again, but forced it down. He could not be starting a shouting match. The last thing he needed right now was for Mrs. Weasley to come home early and hear their voices. Searching for something to change the subject to, he spotted the cloths wrapped around Malfoy's arm.

"Do you need new bandages?" he asked. "I'm sure Mrs. Weasley has some somewhere."

Malfoy shook his head as he moved the chess pieces back to their starting points. "They're still clean. The stasis stopped the blood flow, so no bleeding or infection." He winced, clutching at the arm.

In spite of himself, Harry felt a pang of sympathy. "It still hurts?"

"Why don't we slice _your _arm open?" Malfoy snapped. "See if _that_ hurts!"

"Oh, how very mature of you," Harry said under his breath, going back to his book. When he chanced a glance back at Malfoy, the boy was bent over the chessboard again. The pieces were yelling suggestions up at him, but he seemed to be ignoring them.

By the time Harry heard a knock on the door, he was nearing the end of the book and his eyes were starting to cross.

"Harry?" Ginny's muffled voice called. "Mum says to come down for dinner."

"Ah, it's the girlfriend," Malfoy muttered.

"What was that?" Ginny said.

"I said I'll be out in a minute!" Harry called, shooting a warning glance at Malfoy and motioning for him to get out of sight.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and slid off the far side of his bed, sitting on the floor so it blocked him from view.

Harry quickly reformed his face into what he hoped was a blank expression and went to open the door.

Ginny, who had been looking back behind her, turned around, jumping slightly. "You scared me."

"Sorry," Harry said as he stepped out and shut the door. She was giving him an odd look, so he turned away, heading downstairs.

When they arrived in the kitchen, Ron, his parents, and Hermione were already sitting at the table, two other plates set out for Ginny and Harry.

Mr. Weasley looked up, smiling. "Hello, Harry. How have you been?"

"Fine," Harry replied, starting in on his food.

The Weasleys continued to talk around him, mostly about what had happened that day. Mr. Weasley had apparently had a slow day, just a few cursed tea kettles and a set of curtains that tried to strangle a woman. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny talked about the new security in Diagon Alley. Hermione put in a few comments about the security, which apparently involved Aurors posted at intervals to watch for suspicious behavior, but otherwise, she was mostly silent. Ron never said a word, glowering at his plate the entire time.

"Harry?" Ginny said.

"Hmm?" Harry looked up.

"I asked what you thought about the random Dark Mark checks? I personally think it's useless. I mean, a Dark Mark can be covered up."

"Oh." Harry thought about it for a moment. Having Aurors stop people in Diagon Alley to check them for Dark Marks might help keep Death Eaters from attacking as often. Still, Ginny had a point. "I don't know."

"Are you all right?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "You're being awfully quiet."

"I guess I'm just feeling a bit off," Harry said. It was not technically a lie. He noticed Hermione glance in his direction, but did not acknowledge her. The last thing he needed was to give Ron more reason to think they were together.

"Why don't you go on up to bed then?" Mrs. Weasley said, in a tone that obviously said that he had no other choice. "A good night of sleep should do you some good."

"I'll walk you upstairs," Ginny said, standing with Harry. Knowing that it would raise suspicions if he objected, Harry accepted her offer and they walked out of the room.

"Are you going to tell me what this is really about?" Ginny asked when they were about halfway up the stairs.

Harry stumbled a bit, glancing over at her, but she was avoiding his gaze. "What?"

"You're obviously not sick," she said. Her voice sounded strange, as though she were repressing some emotion.

"I'm just a little tired is all. Are _you_ okay?"

It took her a moment to answer. "Ron told me what happened earlier. With Hermione."

Harry's stomach clenched."I swear, it wasn't what Ron thought. We were just talking."

"I know," Ginny said. They had reached the second floor landing now, and she took a few more steps, crossing her arms with her back turned to Harry. "I believe you."

"Then what is it?" Harry asked.

She sighed. "It's just...for a moment, before I had a chance to think about it, I wondered if it might be true. And...God, I was so angry. I wanted to hunt you down and find some way to...to get back at you."

"You were just upset," he said. "You figured out that Hermione and I wouldn't be together."

"But what if you _were?_" She turned around to face him. "What if it was some other girl? I'm not your girlfriend anymore. I shouldn't have _been_ that upset."

Harry reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. "Hey, I wouldn't been mad, too. We can't really expect to get over each other overnight."

Ginny looked up at him, biting her lip. Then, she took a step forward and kissed him.

Harry was thrown off for a brief second, but he returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around her. Her shirt had pulled up slightly, and when his hand grazed over her skin, he felt a sudden warmth spread through him and he pulled her closer.

Ginny pulled back from him suddenly, breaking out of his grasp. "I'm sorry," she said.

Harry smiled, trying to hide his embarrassment at his own body's response. "When are you going to stop apologizing?" he asked.

"Is this how it's going to be?" she said, backing up toward the stairs. "Because I don't know how much longer I can take it."

"We just have to control ourselves. It'll take some time, but we can get through this."

"Can we?" she asked. She turned and hurried off up the stairs.

"Ginny?" Harry called after her, but she did not turn back and soon she disappeared from view, her footsteps still echoing.

He sighed, trying to sort through his muddled thoughts. He should not have reacted to her like that. The whole point of breaking up with her was to protect her. He could not risk pulling her right back into this just because he could not control himself. Deciding that there was really nothing he could do about it tonight, he turned his eyes away from the stairs and pulled open the door to the twins' room.

Harry glanced around the room and felt a sinking dread when he did not see Malfoy. It was a passing moment, however, as the door to the attached bathroom opened and Malfoy stepped out, dressed in a new pair of clothes, his hair dripping wet.

Harry looked over at his trunk to see that the lid had been thrown open, the things inside shifted around. "You went through my trunk?"

"I needed a change of clothes," Malfoy said. "You couldn't expect me to wear those forever." He looked at Harry and smirked. "Is that a wand in your pocket, Potter, or are you that happy to see me."

Harry's cheeks burned and he glared. "I'm really not in the mood, Malfoy," he growled, crossing the room to shut his trunk.

Unfortunately, this brought him closer to Malfoy, who latched onto the chance to strike a nerve. "Had a run in with the Weasley girl, did you? Obviously she didn't quite get the job done."

"Shut up," Harry growled as he tossed things back into his trunk.

"Or," Malfoy's voice was closer now, "maybe it was _you_ who didn't get the job done. What's the matter, Potter? Didn't think you could measure up to Corner or Thomas?"

Harry slammed the trunk shut with more force than necessary.

Now, Malfoy was standing right behind him, amusement evident in his voice. "I know what it is. You couldn't stand that she was more experienced than you. Too embarrassed to tell her that you're a—"

"I said shut up!" Harry spun around and advanced on Malfoy, backing him up against the wall.

Malfoy's eyes flashed and his grin widened. "I knew it! You got nowhere with Chang, what with her whinging all the time. And Weasley...well, after she had half the guys in our year—"

Harry's fists clenched. "I swear, Malfoy, if you say one more word—"

"You'll what?" Malfoy leaned forward a bit so that his face was inches from Harry's. "Come on, Potter. It's your move."

There was no logic to what Harry did next. Maybe it was a carry over from the feelings Ginny had brought up. Maybe Malfoy's face being so close that he could feel warm breath on his face set him off. Or maybe it was just the intense urge to wipe the smirk off Malfoy's face. Whatever the reason, Harry closed the distance between them and pressed his mouth against Malfoy's, pushing him flat against the wall again.

Malfoy was still for a split second, then pulled his face to one side, breaking the kiss. He breathed harshly, his cheeks tinged pink. "Well played, Potter," he muttered. Before Harry could have a chance to clear his head, Malfoy had him by the shoulders and kissed him forcefully.

The move caught Harry off-guard and he stumbled backward a few steps, his lips parting slightly. Malfoy took the opportunity to gain some ground, and, when Harry felt that tongue graze against his, a shiver ran through his veins. His heart beat so hard he could feel it in every inch of his body.

He realized that Malfoy was getting the better of him and a sort of feral instinct took over. He seized Malfoy's arms and pushed back, steering them to the nearest bed. The initial kiss had long since ended, but it did not seem to matter anymore. He pushed Malfoy back onto the bed and kissed him again briefly. He felt something very hard pressing against his leg and his hips bucked.

"Potter! _Potter!_" Malfoy's voice penetrated the fog in Harry's head long enough for him to notice that the other boy was wincing. "You're chafing me!"

"What?" Harry said. The haze cleared a bit, and the beginnings of confusion were starting to form in the back of his mind.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Malfoy asked.

Harry barely heard as he tried to latch onto the few coherent thoughts in his mind, but it was like trying to focus on a picture going in and out of focus.

Malfoy made a disgusted noise, braced one hand on the bed, wrapped the other around Harry's arm, and pushed himself up. By the time Harry made it out of his shock, he found himself on his back with Malfoy staring down at him, the dreaded smirk playing across his face again.

"Now then," Malfoy said, "I'll show you how it's done."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Malfoy's lips closed over his neck at that moment, and any words he might have said turned into an involuntary moan, his hips hitching again.

"Not yet, Potter." Malfoy's breath washed over Harry's skin, making him shudder. He felt a tugging at his shirt and raised himself up a few inches automatically to let Malfoy pull it off. He tried to sit up, but Malfoy planted another kiss at the base of his throat. All the strength drained from Harry's arms and he fell back again, all the breath going out of him.

As Malfoy traced a slow, careful line down the center of his chest, Harry squirmed under the touch. His trousers felt tight and too warm. Yet, even as he realized this, he could vaguely feel Malfoy's hands working to undo his belt, and the pressure was gone.

At that moment, Malfoy's tongue flicked over Harry's navel and he groaned. A tingling had started all up his arms and legs, as though invisible bugs crawled under his skin, and he could hardly keep still for even a moment. He fought against Malfoy, but the fog in his mind was such that he could hardly tell what he was doing.

Then he felt a hot breath of air just below his navel and all semblance of rational thought left him. Malfoy put his hands and mouth to work and, within moments, Harry felt a sudden rush and his muscles seized up, his mouth parting in a silent cry.

It was over as quickly as it had begun and he fell back against the mattress, his limbs feeling like lead. Unfortunately, the intensity of the sensation had forced Harry's mind out of the fog into a terrible clarity. Hoping that it was somehow some terrible dream, Harry forced his eyes open and found him staring at his nightmare hovering just over his waist.

"Wow, Potter," Malfoy said, sitting back on his knees, "about three seconds. You must've been backed up for a _while_."

Harry blinked. Then, his eyes traveled down a bit to see that Malfoy had undone his own trousers, reveling that he was in much the same situation Harry had been not a minute ago. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and lay back again, his face burning. This could not be happening.

"Oh, relax, Potter," Malfoy said, and Harry felt the bed shift as Malfoy got up. "I still don't trust you. Besides, you're too much of a prude."

Through his intense disgust with himself, Harry managed to feel offense at the comment. Any retort he might have come up with was cut short, however, when he heard a slick, unmistakable noise from his right. Feeling ill, he reached down to zip up his trousers, trying not to think about the wet spot he felt or what Malfoy was doing right now. He turned on his side away from the sound.

After just a minute or two, Harry heard a groan and then a rustling noise. "I don't think you want to sleep like that," Malfoy's voice said. "That spot's not going to dry for a while."

Harry clenched his fists, but he had to admit that Malfoy had a point. So, slowly, he got up, keeping his back to Malfoy. He found his shirt on the floor and retrieved it as he crossed to his trunk. He flipped it open and grabbed the first change of clothes he saw. He tucked them under his arm and rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door. Once there, he shed his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the faucet on cold and proceeding to scrub every inch of his skin.

After about twenty minutes, Harry finally managed to stop his frantic cleaning and shut off the water. Drying off, he stepped out and moved over to the sink, bracing his hands on either side of it and staring into the mirror. "Wake up," he muttered, clenching his fingers until the knuckles turned white. "This isn't real. It can't be."

Unfortunately, it was all too real.

An angry red bruise on the side of Harry's neck caught his eye, and he groaned. It looked like he would be wearing collared shirts for a while. He tore his eyes away from the mirror and started to pull his clothes on.

When he stepped out, he found that Malfoy had changed his own clothes and was sitting on the floor, puzzling over the chessboard once again. Harry hesitated in the doorway. Several emotions chased each other around his mind, anger at the forefront. He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to do at that moment, though hitting something, or, rather, someone, seemed an enticing idea.

"Back so soon, Potter?" Malfoy said, not even looking up. "I figured you'd scrape off at least the top layer of skin."

Harry felt the color rising in his face. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came to his mind, so he just stood gaping.

Malfoy glanced up and grimaced. "Close your mouth, Potter, it's unsightly. Besides, actions speak louder than words."

"What?" Harry said.

"The beds. I assume you know a cleaning spell. I don't know about you, but I don't fancy sleeping in a wet spot." Malfoy turned his eyes back to the board, moving the white knight to take a pawn.

Harry hated the idea of following Malfoy's orders, but the prospect was not exactly appealing to him either. So, he went to his trunk and dug around until he found his wand. He moved slowly over to the beds, trying not to think about what he was cleaning up. Taking a deep breath to settle his queasy stomach, he waved his wand at each of the beds, saying the spell.

A knock on the door nearly made Harry jump out of his skin.

"Harry?" Hermione's muffled voice called through the door.

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. She would know something was wrong. He could not hide anything from her.

"Better answer the door, Potter," Malfoy said, moving a black pawn. "Granger might think something's up."

Harry seethed, his hands clenching briefly into fists. Then, he took a deep breath, tried to compose himself, and went to open the door, dropping his wand back into his trunk on the way.

"Can I come in?" Hermione asked.

Harry hesitated, but nodded finally. Hermione marched past him, and, the moment, he closed the door, she pointed her wand at it, performed a imperturbable charm, and rounded on him.

"Have you lost your mind?"

Harry blinked at her. "What?"

"'Feeling a bit off?' I thought we agreed we were going to act natural."

Harry crossed his arms and started toward the other side of the room. "Look, Hermione, I'm really not up for this right now—"

"_You're_ not up for this?!" Hermione said, waving her hand back at the door for emphasis. "Ron thinks we're sneaking around behind his back, Mrs. Weasley thinks you're up here on your death bed, and Mr. Weasley knows _something_'s going on!"

Harry whirled around. "Well, you're the smart one! You figure something out!"

"I'm doing the best I c—what is that on your neck?"

Harry's stomach clenched so violently it was a miracle he did not throw up, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy give a start, accidentally knocking over half of his chess pieces with a loud clatter.

Luckily, Hermione did not seem to notice the sudden noise, keeping her eyes focused on Harry. "You were with Ginny, weren't you?" she asked. She seemed to take his silence as affirmation. "Unbelievable. With everything that's going on, you still try to pull something like this."

"I don't see how it's your business!" Harry wasn't sure why he felt so defensive about something that did not happen, but nevertheless, he felt the color rising in his face.

"You still don't understand, do you?"

"Understand what?"

Hermione gave a disgusted sigh. "Never mind. I didn't come up here to argue with you." She pulled out her wand and turned to Malfoy, who had just finished setting his chess pieces back up. "I need to renew the stasis spell."

Malfoy looked up at her, narrowing his eyes, but he got up and went to sit on the edge of his bed, reaching up to unwrap the bandages on his arm. Harry glanced the other way, still fuming.

"The spell seems to be holding nicely," she said. "No blood, no infection. You're sure it hasn't been hurting?" She paused a moment. "Harry? Come over here. Bring your wand."

Harry, caught off-guard, considered just staying where he was, but he reluctantly retrieved his wand and moved closer to the bed.

"I can't be coming in here every few days to renew the spell," she explained. "Not with Ron so suspicious. You're going to have to learn it. Now, watch me." She made a rather complicated looking wrist motion. "_Desiit_." Then, as Malfoy went back to his chess game, wrapping the bandages back up, she rolled up her left sleeve. "Try it. I'll be able to tell if it works."

Harry hesitated. He might not exactly be on good terms with her right now, but he still did not want to accidentally hurt her.

"Harry," she said, seeming to sense his fear, "the worst that can happen is that it won't work. Now, do it."

So, Harry tried.

And tried.

And tried.

Finally, after his seventh attempt, Hermione gave a small gasp and nodded. "You've got it," she said. She waved her own wand over the spot several times to reverse the spell and flexed her fingers.

"What does it feel like?" Harry asked.

"Cold," Hermione said simply. "Very cold. Now, the spell only encompasses a small area of the arm, so make sure you get it spot on. The reversal is complicated, so if something goes wrong, just come find me."

Harry nodded mutely.

"Good." Hermione paused, glancing briefly at Malfoy, who was very obviously only pretending to be interested in the chessboard, and lowered her voice. "We'll talk later. Maybe after we've had a good sleep, cooled off a bit."

"Right," Harry mumbled.

She smiled and went to leave, checking the hall carefully before stepping out and shutting the door quickly behind her.

"No wonder you're so uptight," Malfoy muttered.

Harry opened his mouth retort, but words escaped him. After a moment, he settled for a frustrated sigh and went to lay on his bed. At some point, his mind seemed to have decided that he could not deal with all of this right now, so his thoughts had been reduced to their barest of forms. As his eyes closed, exhaustion took over and he fell straight to sleep.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Surprised? Disappointed? Confused? Please review. I'm very eager to find out what everyone's reactions are. I'm not sure where the next chapter will cut off (though it looks like it might be a longer one), so my teaser is only tentative. Next chapter: a wardrobe, a Memory Charm, a few very pissed off Weasleys, a note of farewell, the return of something thought to be gone for good, and Harry finds himself having an exceptionally bad day. Sorry folks, but the slash is going to be a little light for a while (at least a few chapters), owing to plot demands. But never fear, for it shall return. We stand on the brink of DH's release. I hope to see you all on the other side.


	7. Chapter 7: Secrets and Sickness

Author's Note: Yes, I'm still here, and I'm still writing. I won't lie and say that _Deathly Hallows_ didn't affect me. I have committed myself to finishing this story though, and I fully intend to do just that. I will be borrowing one name from DH in a future chapter (I'll make note of it when I do), but otherwise, everything will remain as I originally intended. Some things will be the same as in DH by coincidence, others will be vastly different. So, without further ado, I'll be continuing this as an AU.

- - - - -

Chapter 7: Secrets and Sickness

Harry awoke a few hours before dawn, his muscles aching dully and the beginnings of a headache planted in the back of his head. As everything from the previous day came rushing back to him, he groaned and pressed a hand over his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not block out the memories.

What was going to happen now? Being around Malfoy was always a trying experience, to say the least, but at least Harry had always known where he stood. They would insult each other at every opportunity, sometimes with a fistfight involved. But now...was Malfoy going to expect things to change? What if he tried something like this again? How was Harry supposed to react to something like that?

Harry sighed, dropping his hand from his eyes and turning over. Then, he caught a glimpse of something in the corner and sat up suddenly. The moonlight threw a silvery cast over the dark room, illuminating a figure in the corner. Malfoy lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, his eyes shut and his mouth hanging open slightly.

Harry felt a touch of pity, but at the same time, the way that Malfoy was lying worried him. "Malfoy?" he said in a quiet voice. No response. Not wanting to risk a louder call, Harry pushed himself to his feet and moved silently across the room until he stood over him.

"Malfoy?" he tried again. Nothing.

He stooped down and sucked in a breath when he noticed that, in spite of the heat of the room, Malfoy was shivering, his eyes sunk deep into their sockets and his breathing alarmingly shallow. "Malfoy?" Harry reached out and lightly touched his shoulder. Malfoy made a little noise and shifted slightly, but did not wake up. Hesitating for a brief moment, Harry moved his hand down to feel Malfoy's arm. His fingers met with cold, clammy skin and he pulled his hand back immediately.

Without another thought, Harry straightened up and went over to Malfoy's bed, which was untouched since the previous day. He retrieved the blanket, plus the one from his own bed, and brought them back to Malfoy, draping them over him. Not knowing what else to do until morning, Harry settled down a few feet away, leaning back against the wall to keep a sentry.

To Harry's immense relief, Malfoy's shaking stopped, and he seemed to sleep more peacefully, though he showed no sign of waking up anytime soon. By the time the sun started to rise, Harry was feeling more at ease. Thoughts of the previous night tried to invade his conscious, but he managed to keep them at bay by focusing on the present. He considered going to find Hermione, but held back, reluctant to face the world just yet. So, he stayed where he was as the room began to lighten, trying to figure out what to do next.

The sun had just cleared the horizon when a knock on the door made Harry jump so badly his head hit the wall. "Harry?" Mrs. Weasley's muffled voice came through the door. "Can I come in?"

"Just a minute!" Harry called, his heart pounding in his chest. He lowered his voice to a furious whisper, shaking Malfoy's shoulder. "Malfoy? Malfoy, wake up!"

Malfoy groaned softly and his eyes opened in slits. "Wh..."

Harry immediately clamped a hand over Malfoy's mouth, putting a finger to his own lips. He glanced wildly around the room, his eyes settling on the wardrobe first. It would have to do.

"Are you all right, dear?" Mrs. Weasley said, knocking again. The door knob rattled. "The door's locked."

"I'm fine. Give me a minute." All pretenses dropped, Harry grabbed Malfoy by the arms and yanked him to his feet, half dragging him toward the wardrobe. "In here," he mouthed. Malfoy looked at him wide eyed and opened his mouth to protest, but there was no time. Harry pushed him inside, shutting the door.

Just as he was about to go let Mrs. Weasley in, Harry remembered the mark on his neck. He hurried to his trunk, throwing it open and grabbing the first high-collared shirt he spotted. He pulled it on as he moved to the door.

"Sorry," Harry said as he pulled the door open and finished adjusting his shirt. "I was dressing."

Mrs. Weasley stood outside with a tray in her hands, carrying two plates of food and two glasses of pumpkin juice. "Oh, that's all right dear," she said as she came in. "I just thought I'd bring some breakfast to you and Ginny. She never came down for breakfast; I thought maybe she caught whatever you had. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," Harry said,. He heard some quiet shuffling from inside the wardrobe and fought the urge to panic. "I think I just needed a good night of sleep."

She studied him critically. "You look a bit feverish, are you sure?"

"I'm fine," he said.

Mrs. Weasley seemed to reluctantly accept this. She moved over to the bedside table, setting out one of the plates and glasses.

A muffled noise that sounded like a strangled whimper from the wardrobe. made Harry flinch and Mrs. Weasley straighten up suddenly. "Did you hear something?" she asked.

"No," Harry said, fighting to keep his face blank. As Mrs. Weasley set the tray down and started toward the wardrobe, however, all bets were off. "Mrs. Weasley, don't..."

But it was too late. She threw open the wardrobe to reveal Malfoy sitting on the bottom with his legs drawn up to his chest, his head bowed and hidden. "Who..." She froze, a look of realization and abject horror on her face.

"Mrs. Weasley—" Harry started.

"_Obliviate Minisma!_" A jet of light shot past Harry, hitting Mrs. Weasley square in the back. She went rigid for a moment then collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Harry whirled around to see Hermione standing in the doorway, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. "We need to work fast," she said, walking past him to crouch by Mrs. Weasley.

Harry shook himself, trying to process what had just happened. "What did you do?" he asked.

"Light memory charm," Hermione said. "She'll only forget a few hours."

"A few—Hermione, have you gone mad?"

"I probably have," she muttered, glancing back at him. "Ron and his dad went to Diagon Alley. Ginny isn't up yet. I'm going to move her downstairs. You do whatever you need to to deal with him..." She jerked her head back at the wardrobe. "...and meet me in the sitting room."

Harry could only stare at her as she waved her wand at Mrs. Weasley, levitating her into the air. She wrapped a hand around Mrs. Weasley's wrist and pulled her along gently into the hallway, shutting the door behind them.

Harry gaped at the door for a few moments before remembering what he was supposed to do and looking back at the wardrobe. Malfoy was resting his chin on top of his knees now, his eyes wide and staring. Otherwise, he had not moved.

"Malfoy?" Harry tried. After a moment, he took a few tentative steps forward. "Are you all right?"

Malfoy blinked, but that was all.

Deciding to deal with this later, Harry left the room, making sure that the door was locked behind him. The last thing they needed was for Malfoy to escape right now. Then, he headed downstairs.

Hermione had already settled Mrs. Weasley onto a couch and sat in a chair nearby, wringing her hands.

"When is she going to wake up?" Harry asked, sitting in the nearest chair.

"Soon," Hermione said. "She should wake up soon."

"When did you learn how to do memory charms?"

"Last year. I've only done light ones. I practiced on Crookshanks."

"I imagine he didn't like that much."

"Well, he wouldn't remember, now would he?"

Harry decided not to dwell on that. "So, what are we—"

He broke off when Mrs. Weasley moaned suddenly, shifting around and opening her eyes. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, then turned her head to one side. "What happened?" she asked.

"We found you in the kitchen," Hermione said swiftly. "You passed out."

"Oh," Mrs. Weasley looked confused. "I...I remember coming down the stairs..."

The fireplace suddenly roared with green flames and Mr. Weasley stepped out, followed by Ron, both covered in soot and carrying a few packages.

"They have no right to..." Mr. Weasley stopped abruptly, staring at his wife on the couch. "What happened?"

"She fainted in the kitchen," Hermione said.

"Did you really?" Mr. Weasley asked sternly.

"I remember coming down the stairs..." Mrs. Weasley said again, scrunching her face in concentration. "It's blank after that."

Harry held his breath as Mr. Weasley looked around at the three of them, as though waiting for one of them to confess the truth. Finally, he shook his head, moving over to kiss Mrs. Weasley. "I told you not to overwork yourself. Now, I want you to lie down and don't get up for the rest of the morning. I'll make you some tea."

Mrs. Weasley just looked at him for a moment, then laid back down, obviously troubled.

Hermione glanced quickly at Harry and started out toward the kitchen too. Taking the hint, Harry followed.

"We're going to get some fresh air," Hermione said. Mr. Weasley gave them just a nod before turning his attention back to the task at hand. Hermione led the way out the door and across the yard until they were several yards from the house.

"That was too close," she said. "You need to be more careful."

"It's not my fault," Harry protested. "She brought breakfast up for me. I put Malfoy in the wardrobe, but he made too much noise."

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "We need to figure out a better way to..." She trailed off, a sudden look of apprehension crossing her face. Harry turned to see Ron storming toward them.

"What did you do to her?!" he asked furiously, making Harry stumbled back several steps.

"She just fainted," Hermione said, her voice wavering. She clutched Harry's arm with almost bruising force.

"Do you really think I'm that dense?" Ron said. "I know a memory charm when I see one. What did you do?"

Hermione's fingernails dug into Harry's arm, and he pulled way from her. "I think we should tell him," he said.

She looked up at him sharply, but nodded taking a deep breath. "Come with us," she said. "We need to tell you something."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about."

"Trust me," Harry said. "You're going to need to be as far from the house as possible for this."

Ron finally gave in, so they started walking, Hermione in the lead. No one said a word, the tension building in the silence.

Finally, when they reached a shed and moved to the other side of it, Hermione stopped and sat down among the tall weeds, waving her hand to brush aside some stalks that tickled her face.

"It's going to be a little uncomfortable, but you should probably sit for this," she said.

Harry sat down and, after a moment, Ron did the same, his eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

Hermione took a deep breath and began. "It all started four days ago, when I went to Knockturn Alley to look for books on Horcruxes..."

To Ron's credit, he did not interrupt. The hard, stern look on his face, however, was enough to chill Harry's blood. When Hermione finished her story with the events of that morning, Ron stayed quiet a moment.

"So..." he said finally, his voice dangerously quiet, "all this time...you've been hiding a Death Eater in the house."

"We're really sorry," Hermione said. "We were going to tell you, but we just couldn't find the right time."

Harry caught the icy look in Ron's eyes and knew that was not what he had meant. "He's not dangerous," he said.

Apparently this was even worse. Ron rounded on him. "Not dangerous?! You of all people should know better than that! He almost _killed_ me!"

"I know," Harry said, remembering the poisoned wine, "but we can't turn him in. If the Ministry doesn't kill him, the Death Eaters will. And we obviously can't let him go."

"We're not asking you to accept this," Hermione said. "We're just asking you not to tell anyone until we figure out what we're going to do."

Ron glanced between them. "So," he said, "this is what you've been hiding?"

"Yes," Hermione said.

"And you two...aren't together?"

"Of course not."

Some of the tension seemed to go out of Ron's face, but he still looked at them with narrowed eyes. "I want to see him."

Hermione glanced at Harry, who shook his head slightly. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," she said.

Ron focused his eyes unblinkingly on her. "My mother had her memory modified. I want to see the reason why."

Harry tried to shoot Hermione a warning look. The way Malfoy had looked when he left, he doubted that bringing Ron in was such a good idea.

But Hermione seemed to be avoiding his gaze now. "All right," she said reluctantly, "just...when you see him, remember that I'm the one who cast the spell."

Ron's expression betrayed nothing, but his muscles went rigid for a moment. Then, he nodded and got up, starting back toward the house without another word.

As they got up, Harry caught Hermione's arm, but she pulled away, her eyes still refusing to look at him. Having no other choice, he followed her back to the house.

On their way through the living room, Hermione told Mr. Weasley that they were going upstairs to play Exploding Snap. He barely acknowledged them however, too intent on making sure that Mrs. Weasley was comfortable. She seemed to be returning to her old self, protesting that she had to get up and start making lunch.

When they made it to the twins room, Hermione was the one who went to the door, but she hesitated, looking at Ron. "Remember," she said again, "I'm the one who cast the spell." She opened the door.

The instant Harry saw Malfoy, he wished Ron was not there. Malfoy had retreated to his corner once again, his knees drawn up to his chest, staring up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes.

When they walked in, though, Malfoy blinked and turned his attention on them. He sneered, but the expression seemed forced. "Great," he said, "another Weasel."

Ron's fists curled, but Hermione reached out to grab his arm immediately. "Don't," she said.

"You've seen him," Harry said, worried that Ron might try to start something.

Ron continued to stare at Malfoy with narrowed eyes for a few moments. Then, he nodded. "Fine," he said, "but let's get one thing clear. I'll keep it a secret, but I want nothing to do with any of this." He turned to Hermione, lowering his voice to a deadly whisper. "And if you ever do magic on my mother again, it's over. I'll go straight to the Ministry."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. Then, when Ron walked out of the room, she immediately turned to face away from Harry, her hand over her mouth.

A moment of tense silence passed before Harry worked up the courage to ask. "Hermione? Are you all right?"

She whirled around. "No, I'm not!" Then, her expression softened and she shook her head, wiping at her eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just—"

"I know," Harry said. "You know Ron though. He'll be mad for a while, but he'll come around."

Hermione smiled a little and nodded. "I should go back downstairs," she said. Her eyes flitted to the side briefly and she lowered her voice. "If you don't come down, I'll bring some lunch up."

Harry nodded and watched as she left the room, rubbing her eyes again. Then, he turned around and froze when his eyes fell on Malfoy. For a split second, he had forgotten he was there.

Malfoy's head was bowed, his eyes closed and one palm pressed over his forehead as though he had a migraine. After a few moments, he looked up. "Bit moody, isn't she?" he asked.

Harry seethed but forced himself to keep quiet, going to sit on the edge of his bed. He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will off his own headache.

"Why so tense, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "You know, I could help you with that."

"Stay the hell away from me!" Harry snapped, pushing his glasses back on so hard they dug into his skin. His mind flashed back to the night before, and he felt his body begin to react involuntarily. At the same time, bile rose in his throat and he reigned himself in, keeping his expression angry.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and rested his head against the wall, his arms draped over his knees. "You Gryffindors are so uptight. I can't believe your parents actually managed to have you."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Or maybe your mother had a little help. I've heard that—"

"_I said shut up!_" Harry leapt to his feet, breathing heavily and clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms.

Malfoy flinched and seemed to shrink back even more, but he smirked. "Why? What are you going to do about it?"

Every muscle in Harry's body tensed, but he just let out a forceful breath and stalked across the room to stand in the opposite corner, taking deep breaths. He could not let Malfoy wind him up like this. He needed to calm down long enough to think clearly.

"That's what I thought," Malfoy said.

Harry stayed right where he was, not daring to say anything until he got himself under control again. He heard some shuffling behind him, but kept his eyes fixed on the wall. When his emotions finally calmed down, he looked around to see that Malfoy was sitting in the middle of the floor, the chessboard laid out in front of him again. He seemed to already be in the middle of a game, half of the black pieces already taken and the rest backed into one corner of the board. The pieces themselves seemed to have given up giving Malfoy advice and were just glowering.

"Who's winning?" Malfoy muttered under his breath.

"What?" Confusion mingled with Harry's anger.

Malfoy glanced up. "Who's winning?"

Harry looked down at the board. "White," he said immediately.

"Then you take white. It's your move."

Harry hesitated. There was some trick to this, he knew it. Malfoy was just trying to catch him off guard. Yet, the desire to prove himself right won out, and Harry reluctantly settled down in front of the chessboard and glanced over it. He moved a rook forward. "Check."

Things seemed to be going well. Harry took both of Malfoy's bishops and a knight and advanced two of his pawns across the board. Malfoy took longer and longer to make his moves, once taking almost a full five minutes. Harry was certain he was going to win. Then, suddenly, Malfoy reached out and...

"Checkmate."

Harry gaped at the board. Somehow, Malfoy had managed to get his queen and a rook on either side of his king, and all other routes of escape were blocked by Harry's own pieces.

"Do you even know the meaning of the word 'strategy?'" Malfoy asked, as he gathered up the pieces and started setting them back up.

"I almost won," Harry said defensively.

One of the white knights swung its sword at Malfoy's hand, and he gave a start, dropping the piece. "There's no such thing as almost. Either you win or you lose."

Harry could not think of a retort for that, so he reached down to pick up the knight. Unfortunately, Malfoy seemed to have the same idea. The moment Harry felt Malfoy's hand brush his, he pulled his arm back as though he had been bitten.

"Little jumpy, aren't we?" Malfoy smirked as he set the knight back on its square.

Harry glared, but before he could come up with a retort, the door opened and Hermione stood in the doorway, carrying a tray with a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. They all stared at each other for a moment, none quite sure what to say.

Malfoy snapped out of it first, standing up and going to his bed. He sat on the far side with his back to them.

This seemed to startled Hermione out of her daze. "Chess again?" she asked.

Harry shrugged, struggling to keep his face blank. "It's something to do."

She narrowed her eyes, but did not comment. "I told Mrs. Weasley that you still weren't feeling well, so she let me bring lunch up here," she said. "I think she's still a bit disoriented." She glanced at Malfoy, who seemed intent on ignoring them.

Harry paid him the same service, selecting a sandwich off the plate. "Did Ron say anything?"

She shook her head. "Not a word. You should have seen the look he gave me when I came downstairs though."

"What about Mr. Weasley? Do you think he suspects anything?"

"No. He thinks she's just overworked, and it seems like she's going along, too. She still doesn't remember anything past going downstairs this morning."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. They might be able to trust Ron to keep this secret, but he doubted Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be very pleased about harboring a Death Eater under their roof.

They ate in silence after that. Hermione glanced at Malfoy every once in a while, but Harry made a special effort not to look around. When they finished, Hermione brushed her hands off and selected a napkin off the tray, loading four sandwiches onto it.

"I'll leave these for him," she said. "You can just keep one of these glasses up here and wash it out in the bathroom. I'm sure Mrs. Weasley won't notice it missing." She moved to set the things on the bedside table but stopped when she saw the breakfast tray still sitting there, the food untouched. "I suppose I'll have to take this down, too. Hopefully no one will...Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry was still staring at the breakfast tray, which Hermione had stacked on top of the other in her hands. Two plates: one for him, one for...

"Did Ginny come downstairs for lunch?" he asked.

Hermione stared at him for a moment before a look of realization dawned on her face. "No."

"Take those downstairs and get everyone up here." Harry watched as she nodded and rushed off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy looking at him, but he hardly noticed as he hurried out of the room too, heading upstairs to Ginny's room, praying that she was all right.

He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on Ginny's door. "Ginny?"

No answer.

He tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. "I'm coming in."

He was met with a room painted pale pink, with nothing on the walls and shades pulled over the windows. The whole place seemed empty and impersonal, just a bed, a wardrobe, and a bedside table. There was no one there.

Harry turned in a slow circle, trying not to panic. Then, his eyes fell on a folded bit of parchment perched on her pillow. He picked it up and another, smaller slip of paper fell out. The larger was a letter written to Mrs. Weasley, so he set it aside, and picked up the other paper, which had his name on the outside. He could hear running footsteps coming up the stairs now, but he kept his attention on the paper, slowly unfolding it. A short message was scrawled in Ginny's handwriting.

_I just wanted you to know that this isn't your fault, and I'm sorry._

The door burst open and Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway, her face bright red. Mr. Weasley, Ron, and Hermione followed close behind. Mrs. Weasley looked questioningly at Harry, and then her eyes moved to the letter on the bed. She picked it up. The color slowly drained from her face as she read, and Mr. Weasley dashed forward to catch her before she collapsed.

Ron came forward next, tugging the paper out of his mother's grip and glancing over it. He shot a suspicious look at Harry, then glanced at his mother with almost apprehensive pity.

Harry just stood on his side of the room, his hands clutched around his tiny slip of paper, wishing someone would say something.

Then, Hermione stepped up. With some effort, she managed to wrestle the letter away from Ron and looked at it for several moments. Finally, she looked up at Harry with wide eyes.

"She's gone," she said.

-

"I cannot believe those two," Mrs. Weasley mumbled under her breath as she aggressively scrubbed a plate in the sink. She could have easily used a spell to do the dishes, but she seemed to be trying to work off some of her anger. "Here for two weeks and not a single word."

"Molly, calm down," Mr. Weasley said, resting his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sure she's fine."

Mrs. Weasley dropped the plate into the sink with a loud clatter and whirled around. "That's not the point! Damn it, Arthur, she's only fifteen!"

As Mr. Weasley continued trying to console his wife, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat mutely at the table, avoiding each others' gazes. The letter sat in the middle of the table, though none of them looked at it. They had all read it enough times to know what it said.

It seemed that Ginny had been thinking about moving out since the school year ended. According to the letter, she felt as though she did not belong there and just got in everyone's way. She had talked to Fred and George about it, and they had agreed to let her stay with them for a while if she did leave. She had not told anyone else because she knew that her mother would try to stop her.

The moment Mrs. Weasley had recovered from reading the letter, she wanted to march right over to Fred and George's store to demand that Ginny come back. Mr. Weasley only just managed to convince her that that would be a very bad idea. So, the moment Mrs. Weasley got downstairs, she had set into the dishes with a fervor.

"Now, look," Mr. Weasley said, taking his wife's hands into his. "You've rubbed the skin raw. We need to—"

"What we _need_ to do is get her back here!" she said haughtily.

"It won't do any good to drag her back here, and you know it," he said, guiding her over to the table and gently but firmly pushing her down into a chair. "She'll just hate us for it."

"If you give her time, she might come back on her own," Hermione put in, her voice wavering a bit.

"But what if there's an attack?" Mrs. Weasley asked, never taking her eyes off of Mr. Weasley.

"Fred and George will be there," he said. "Along with several dozen Aurors patrolling the streets."

Mrs. Weasley did not say anything further, just staring at her husband as though it was all his fault. Then, she got up and walked briskly out of the room.

Mr. Weasley sighed and glanced between Harry and Hermione. "I'm sorry you two had to see this," he said. Then, he hurried after her.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione did not speak for a long time after they had gone. Harry could see the other two exchanging glances out of the corner of his eye, though. He knew exactly what they were thinking. He knew because he was thinking it, too. The message she had left him did nothing to alleviate his guilt. If anything, it made it worse.

Ginny had left because of him.

She had started thinking about leaving not long after he broke up with her. He doubted it was a coincidence that she had left last night.

All because Harry could not control himself.

As the events of the previous night replayed in his mind, moving from the scene with Ginny to that with Malfoy, Harry's stomach flipped and his fists clenched. Even though Ginny would never know what happened after she went upstairs, Harry's mind still connected it to her leaving. A sense of self-loathing stronger than any he had ever felt before filled him until it was all he could think about.

It was his fault.

"Harry? Are you all right?"

All his fault.

Harry glanced up at Hermione. She and Ron both looked worried. He knew that they were ready to forgive him for whatever happened between him and Ginny. In a way, that made it all worse.

Because they thought that was all that was bothering him.

If he told them the real truth, they could never forgive him.

How could they, when he couldn't forgive himself?

Hermione's hand rested on his arm and he recoiled automatically, his skin crawling. He felt tainted. He could not bear for her to touch him.

"What exactly happened between you and Ginny last night?" she asked.

The table had a scorch mark on it, probably from a spell that went astray. Harry focused on the spot, trying to clear his mind. He needed to think of something to say, but he knew that anything he could think of would either be an obvious lie or just make matters worse.

"We won't be mad at you," she continued, "no matter what it is. Right, Ron?" She said the last words with some force.

Ron took a moment to answer. "Right."

"Look," Harry said, surprised at how steady his own voice was as he looked between them, "I really don't want to talk about this right now."

Hermione jumped a bit, but she nodded. "Okay," she said, "we won't talk about it."

Ron just stared at the table darkly. Harry had the feeling he would not be dropping the issue any time soon.

Unable to stand the tension, Harry stood up and started for the door. "I'm going upstairs."

"Should I bring some dinner up later?" Hermione asked.

"I don't want anything."

"But what about...?"she trailed off.

_Malfoy,_ Harry's mind finished for her, and he stopped in his tracks, resting his hand on the door frame. "If I need anything," he said, "I'll come down." Before she could say anything more, he was gone, walking as fast as he could without running.

When he reached his room though, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. More than not wanting to talk to Ron and Hermione, he really did not want to deal with Malfoy right now. But he had no other choice. In the very least, going to a different room for the night would raise suspicions with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, if not the other two as well. So, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

His eyes went immediately to the corner, and, sure enough, that's where he found Malfoy. The moment he walked in, Malfoy looked up at him, a lazy smirk on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the sandwiches sitting untouched on his bedside table, but he did not think anything of it.

"I'm not in the mood, Malfoy," he said immediately once the door was shut.

"Why?" Malfoy said as though speaking to a small child. "Did you have a fight with Weasel?"

"Shut up!"

"You know, I'm starting to think those are your two favorite words." Malfoy pulled himself to his feet as he said this, his hand firmly braced against the wall.

"I'm warning you—"

"Of what?" His voice sounded thinner than normal, but Harry barely noticed. "What're you going to do, Potter?"

Harry did not remember moving forward. He did not remember reaching up. All he knew was one minute he was fuming across the room, the next he was right there, his hands tightening around Malfoy's throat. Malfoy's hands clawed in a weak attempt to loosen his grip.

Too weak.

Harry let go almost immediately and backed away a couple steps, watching as Malfoy struggled to catch his breath. Harry really looked at him this time. He was pale as death, a feverish tinge to his cheeks the only color in his face, and his eyes were glazed. He was skinny, far too skinny, his limbs shaking from the effort to keep himself standing.

Malfoy's eyes suddenly rolled back into his head, and Harry reached forward just in time to catch him. "Malfoy?" Harry slowly lowered him to the floor, kneeling at his side and shaking him. "_Malfoy?_"

Malfoy's head rolled to one side from the jostling, shallow breathing the only sign that he was even still alive.

Harry leapt to his feet and rushed out of the room. At this point, he did not care who he found first, just as long as it was someone. Luckily, the person he nearly barreled into on his way down the stairs was Hermione.

"Harry, are you all right? What is it?" She grabbed his arms, as though afraid that he would try to run off. Ron stood about half a dozen steps below, gaping. When Harry did not reply right away, she let him go and hurried past him up the stairs. Ron started up next, giving Harry no choice but to go back as well.

Hermione took one look at Malfoy and went right to work. She waved her wand at him, levitating him over to the nearest bed. She put a hand to his forehead, frowned, and grabbed his wrist to feel his pulse.

Ron just stood by the door, his arms crossed and his expression dark.

Harry fidgeted on the other side of the room, his guilt threatening to overtake him. He should have known there was something wrong with Malfoy. Always sitting in the corner, not sleeping, barely eating...why had he not noticed?

He could not bear the silence any longer. "Hermione?"

She straightened up, her hand raised to her mouth, seeming to be in deep thought.

"_Hermione?_"

"I don't know, all right?" Her voice shook. "I don't know!"

Harry gaped at her and took a few steps forward. "You don't know? How can you not know?!"

She spun around to face him, the tears shining in her eyes. "Well, I'm sorry, then! I'm sorry for not knowing absolutely everything!"

"Hermione, he's going to die if we don't do something!"

"If you two don't quiet down, he will anyway," Ron spoke up, jerking his head back at the door.

Hermione wiped her eyes and waved her wand idly at the door, but there was no need. Ron's interruption had shaken Harry out of his anger, making him think more clearly. "So," he said, "what do we do now, then?"

Hermione looked on the verge of tears again and shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "Even if I could find the right book and cross reference his symptoms, it would take too long." She hesitated, glancing at Malfoy again. "Our only chance is to bring someone else into this."

"No," Harry said immediately, "out of the question."

She shrugged. "Well, then he dies, because I can't just pull a cure out of thin air." She seemed to take Harry's silence as an admission of defeat. "We need someone who might know something about healing. Someone we can trust not to tell anyone."

Harry still had reservations, but started thinking on it anyway. Even now, after everything that had happened, Dumbledore was the first person who came to mind. Beyond Ron and Hermione, he was one of only two people, Sirius being the other, that Harry would ever have considered telling a secret like this to.

But they were both gone.

So, he had to consider what options were left to him.

Anyone who worked for the Ministry was out. Even if they could be trusted not to turn Malfoy in, Harry would not want to put them in that kind of position. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would not work either, since the safety of the family would ultimately trump that of a Death Eater. He hesitated to pick anyone from the Order, since their purpose was to battle the Death Eaters, but he was beginning to think he would have no choice. It was the only chance they had to find someone who would put stock in Dumbledore's promise to help Malfoy. The question now became who would be not only willing, but also _able_ to keep a secret.

The answer came to him at once. "Lupin," he said.

Hermione blinked. Apparently she had not thought of him. "Are you sure?" she asked. "He's not a Healer..."

"No, but he probably knows the basics, or at least he should be able to help us come up with a better idea. More importantly, he knows how to keep a secret."

She looked at him for a moment and then nodded. "How are we going to get him here? We don't exactly have time to send an owl, and Apparation would be too suspicious." She glanced at Ron. "And with your parents here, Floo is right out."

Harry had not thought of that, but she was right. He looked down at the floor, trying to work something out.

"I could get them out of the house," Ron said suddenly.

Harry's head snapped back up. "What?"

"I'll tell Mum we're running low on Floo powder." Ron spoke very quickly, as though he would lose his nerve if he stopped. "I'll mention that we can stop by Fred and George's shop while we're there. She'll take any excuse to go. I bet she won't even check the Floo Powder."

"What about your dad?" Harry said, hardly believing his ears.

"He'll go just to make sure Mum doesn't drag Ginny back by her hair. Trust me, I'll have them out for half the night."

"I thought you said you didn't want to get involved," Hermione said.

Ron shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I do now. I'm already involved."

None of them spoke for a moment, just glancing at each other and Malfoy. Harry wanted to shout at them to hurry up, but the words caught in his throat.

As Ron finally turned to leave, Hermione spoke up. "I'll go with you," she said. "I can tell them that Harry still isn't feeling well and volunteer to stay here with him. That way we'll know they're gone before we call Lupin here."

Harry nodded and, once they had gone, turned his attention back to Malfoy, starting toward the bed. He felt a sharp pain in his foot, heard a muffled yell, and nearly fell over, throwing out his arms to catch his balance. He looked down to see a chess piece, a black knight, to be exact, lying on the floor, cursing up at him. Harry felt a swelling of anger and kicked the knight off to one side, watching it skip across the floor and hit the wall, going silent. He walked forward again, this time watching his step.

As he approached, Harry noticed that, in spite of a sheen of sweat that shone on his skin, Malfoy was shivering now. Harry immediately grabbed the blankets off the floor and draped them over him. It did not seem to help, but he did not know what else he could do.

- - - - -

Author's note: One thing that is true of most epic fics is that the plot is constantly being fine tuned. As such, I feel the need to warn that there will likely be additional slash ships addressed in future chapters. There will be nothing explicit attached to them, but nevertheless, they will be there. I just want to put that out there now to hopefully avoid future flames. Next chapter (tentative, as always): tensions remain high as the trio bring Lupin in on their secret, the Weasleys return from visiting Ginny, and Harry has a disturbing dream. Classes are starting again soon, so it's hard to say when I'll be able to update again, but I'll try not to make you all wait too long.


	8. Chapter 8: Lupin's Discovery

Author's Note: I was pleasantly surprised to see how many people stuck with this story. Thank you so much to all those who reviewed! I felt bad for leaving the last chapter on such a large cliffhanger, so I decided to put out this update a little earlier than normal. Oddly enough, this chapter also turned out quite a bit longer than I originally intended, but I'm sure no one will object. Enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 8: Lupin's Discovery

Harry was not sure how long he stood staring at the unconscious Malfoy. When the door opened suddenly, he jumped, but it was just Hermione.

"They're gone," she said.

Harry nodded and, reluctantly, followed her out of the room. Neither of them spoke as they headed downstairs. Though they were not arguing anymore, the tension was still there, a rift that prevented them from offering any reassurance to each other.

"We should look at Grimmauld Place," Hermione said when they reached the fireplace. "If he's not there, someone should at least be able to tell us where he is."

"I'll go," Harry said, reaching into the flowerpot to grab some powder.. "You should stay here in case something happens."

She nodded. "Just put your head in. That way I can pull you back out if someone's coming."

Harry threw the powder into the fire and got to his hands and knees, sticking his head in the green flames. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

Though he had not been there for over a year, the kitchen looked much the same as it had then, down to the fine layer of dust coating everything. Someone was sitting at the table, several scrolls spread out in front of them, scribbling something on a scrap of parchment. Harry could not see their face, but he would know that pink hair anywhere.

"Tonks," he said.

She gave a start, sending a stack of parchment cascading to the floor. "Oh, wotcher, Harry." She bent to pick up the paper. "You shouldn't do that. Most 'round here curse first and ask questions later."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said, trying to keep his voice casual. He could not seem too anxious or she would know something was wrong. "Is Lupin there? I need to talk to him about something."

"You're in luck. He just got in about an hour ago. I'll get him for you." She tucked the quill behind her ear, gathered up the parchment and a couple of the scrolls, and left the room.

Harry waited impatiently, wishing she would hurry. His eyes moved to the table again, where a few scrolls still lay, and he wondered vaguely what was on them. He had only just started to consider going to see when the door opened again.

"Hello, Harry," Lupin said. His clothes were shabbier than usual and he his face seemed drawn and tired. Harry tried to remember when the last full moon was, but he was not sure. "Dora said you needed to talk to me."

"How much do you know about healing?" Harry asked.

Lupin seemed startled by this question and looked at Harry with concern. "What happened?"

"We can't talk about it here. I need you to come to the Weasleys'." He saw the suspicion start to creep onto Lupin's face and his panic rose. "Ask me anything, I swear it's me! We need your help!"

Lupin stared at him for a long moment before finally nodding. "Go. I'll be right there."

"Thank you." Harry breathed a sigh of relief and withdrew his head from the fire, sitting back and blinking several times to rid the soot from his eyes and bring the Weasley's living room into focus.

Hermione opened her mouth, but anything she was going to say was cut off by a loud crack as Lupin Apparated into the middle of the room, his wand in hand.

"All right you too," he said, lowering his wand. "What's this about?"

Harry glanced at Hermione, not sure how to start. Luckily, she spoke up first. "First," she said, "we need you to promise you won't tell anyone what we tell you."

Lupin looked between them. "What did you two get yourselves into this time?"

"You won't tell anyone?" Hermione asked.

"I can't promise anything. Not until I know what it is."

Hermione glanced at Harry, but he shook his head at her. "He'll die if we don't," he said under his breath.

Lupin must have caught what he said because his eyes widened and he looked at Harry sternly. "If someone's hurt, you should be taking them to St. Mungo's, not calling me in."

Hermione sighed. "Just come with us," she said. "You'll know why when you see." She started for the stairs. Lupin hesitated, but went after her, and Harry followed close behind.

Outside the door, Hermione stopped, her hand on the doorknob. "Just promise us one thing," she said. "Will you let us explain before you decide to help us or not?"

Lupin looked at her for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded. So, she pushed the door open and stepped in to allow him through.

Lupin's attention moved immediately to the limp form on the bed, hidden by the blankets. As he stepped forward to get a better look, Harry lingered back in the doorway as a sentry, even though he knew that Lupin could easily Apparate out if he wanted to.

About a foot from the bed, Lupin stopped, his back stiffening. When he spoke, there was an edge to his voice that Harry had never heard before. "You had better have a _damn_ good excuse for this."

To Harry's relief, Hermione began to explain right away, tripping over her words in her hurry to give him a quick retelling of everything that had happened since she found Malfoy. Lupin stayed quiet the whole time, still facing the bed. Harry could not see his expression and was not sure if he wanted to. After Hermione finished, he continued to stand for a long time, and Harry began to wonder if they had just made a huge mistake.

"I'll do what I can for him," Lupin said finally, "but I can't promise anything. Not yet."

Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, but he knew it would have to do for now.

So, Lupin pulled the blankets off of Malfoy and set to work. He checked Malfoy's pulse and laid a hand to his forehead. He peeled back his eyelids and forced his jaw open, peering inside. Then, he lifted Malfoy's left arm and slowly unwrapped the bandages from it, examining the shallow wound.

"That's—" Hermione started.

"I know what it is," he said, carefully winding the bandages around the wound again. "Creative use of the stasis spell. You say he was living in the streets when he did this?"

"We think he was, yes," Hermione said. "Do you know what it is?"

He nodded. "I don't recall the proper name, but nowadays they call it the Pauper's Infection. I imagine he picked it up in that alley before you found him."

"Infection? How did it get past my spell?"

"This one's a little more resilient than that. Usually it doesn't show symptoms for a week or more, so I'm not surprised you missed it."

"Can you cure him?" Harry said, wondering why Lupin was dancing around the subject.

"It's progressed further than usually allowed, but, yes, we should be able to cure him. If Molly keeps her cupboard as well stocked as she claims she does, that is." He moved toward the door. Harry hesitated, but finally stepped aside to let him by, glancing at Hermione.

"Go," she said. "I'll stay and watch him."

Harry nodded and went to follow Lupin down to the kitchen. When he got there, Lupin was already going through the cabinets, retrieving at least a dozen ingredients and setting them out on the table. He found a cauldron and set it out on the table, lighting a magical fire underneath it and using his wand to fill it about a quarter of the way with water. He started to prepare and add the ingredients.

"Don't you need a book?" Harry asked. He seemed to remember Lupin saying once that he was not very good at potions.

Lupin shook his head as he tossed in a handful of thyme, retrieved a wooden spoon from a drawer, and began to stir. "I've mixed this potion more times than I can count. Young werewolves get scared; they run away from home. They wind up getting themselves hurt one way or another and the infection takes them."

"How do you find them?" Harry said. He could not believe Lupin had never mentioned anything like this before.

"I don't. Greyback does."

"Greyback?" Harry knew that Lupin had been working as a spy, but he never imagined that he was that deeply involved. "You help him?"

"No, I help_ them_. It's their own choice to join him."

"But how can you help them when you know they're going to serve Voldemort?"

Lupin paused in the middle of crushing beetles. "I think you need to ask yourself why you're helping Malfoy."

Harry thought about it for a moment, trying to find the best way to word his response. "Dumbledore...he promised to help him."

"And why did Dumbledore do that?" Lupin went back to the beetles. "The world isn't black and white, Harry. Think on that, and I'll think about whether I can continue to help."

Neither of them spoke for a long time after that. Lupin focused all of his attention on the potion now, chopping up two ginger roots and adding them. A mass of purple smoke started pouring from the cauldron and he started stirring rapidly. The potion spit and crackled at him, but he kept at it, sweat beading on his forehead. Harry wanted to offer help, but he held back, afraid that if he broke Lupin's concentration, the potion would be ruined.

Then, finally, the smoke thinned, finally stopping all together. Lupin slowed his stirring and pointed his wand at the flames to extinguish them. "Get some vials ready," he said. "About ten should do."

Harry was surprised by the number, but did as he was asked. Lupin transferred the now acid green potion to the vials, shaking them a bit before setting them on the table.

"Why so many?" Harry asked when Lupin had finally finished and started cleaning up.

"As I said, the infection is resilient." Lupin vanished the remaining potion in the cauldron and put it back in its place. "He'll need take this potion twice a day for the next five days." When he finished putting things away, he grabbed five of the vials, motioning for Harry to get the rest.

When they returned to the room, they found Hermione sitting on the edge of Harry's bed, closely monitoring Malfoy. She looked around when the entered, but did not say anything.

"You two should stand back," Lupin said, setting down all but one of the potions and heading for the bed. He popped the cork off the vial and tilted Malfoy's head back, prying his mouth open. He poured the potion in, held Malfoy's jaw shut for a moment, and then stepped back quickly.

The effect was immediate. Malfoy's face scrunched up and all of his muscles seemed to tense at once. He let out a strangled whimper and his back arched, his hands clutching tightly around his sheets.

Harry was not even aware that he had started forward until Lupin put out an arm to stop him. "This is supposed to happen," he explained. "It's burning the infection out. It'll be over soon."

Even as he said this, Malfoy went quiet, slowly settling back down on the bed. His face lost its pained look and he seemed to be out again.

"I need some parchment and a quill," Lupin said. When Harry got it for him, he started scrawling something on it. "Remember, he needs to take the potion twice a day for five days." He folded the parchment in half and handed it to Hermione. "If the infection returns after the five days, you'll need to make more of the potion yourselves."

Hermione glanced over the ingredients and nodded. "Thank you."

"How long until he wakes up?" Harry asked.

"It varies," Lupin said, "but, all things considered, he should be awake by morning. Whether he does or not, I want one of you to report to me. I'll be in the park down the street from Grimmauld Place at nine o'clock. If he's not awake, we'll have to try something else. If he is, I want to speak with him."

"What will you tell the Order if they ask what you're doing?" Hermione asked.

"Dora's working on a set of security systems for all the Order members' homes. I'll just say that you two were asking about it."

"Security systems?" Hermione said.

"To keep attackers out," he said, "and to alert the Ministry if there is an attack. Each house has to have its own unique set of spells, so it's taking a while. Dora is handling the bulk of them. I assure you, the Burrow is at the very top of her list." He patted Harry on the shoulder. Then, with a loud crack, he Disapparated.

Harry and Hermione just glanced at each other uneasily after he left. The tension still had not gone away, but rather it seemed to grow with each passing moment. Harry wished he could think of something to say to make things better, but he drew a blank.

Finally, Hermione found her voice. "There's really nothing else we can do right now," she said. "Maybe we should go for a walk or something. Get our minds off all this."

Harry gave a small shrug. He knew it was no use. Everything that had happened in the last two days was taking over his mind and all he could feel was guilt. Ginny leaving, Malfoy's infection, Hermione's stress...the list went on, and it was all his fault.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

"I should have known," Harry muttered to himself, barely realizing that he had spoken.

"What?"

He glanced at her, hesitating, but the words came tumbling out anyway. "He's been off since you found him. He didn't sleep, he barely ate, he..." He managed to cut himself off before going any further, clamping his jaw shut.

Luckily, Hermione did not seem to notice. "None of which has anything to do with the infection," she said, "and you know it. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I should have known that some infections are resistant to spells."

"That's ridiculous."

"Exactly. So, instead of blaming ourselves, we should just—"

A loud knock on the door cut her off, making them both jump. "We're back," Ron's muffled voice called through the door. "Can I come in?"

Hermione gave Harry a pointed look and went to open the door a bit. When she had confirmed that Ron was alone, she let him in, shutting the door behind him.

"How did it go?" Hermione asked, though Ron's solemn, ashen face already told quite a bit.

"Mum cried," Ron said simply, not quite meeting their eyes. "Dad yelled. Fred and George were...well, Fred and George. Ginny ran off upstairs five minutes in. That girl who works there, Verity, tried to calm everyone down. Mum yelled at her..." He trailed off.

"So, she didn't come back?" Hermione asked.

"After all that, she'll probably never come back."

"I'm sorry." Harry said. It seemed the right thing to say, but the moment the words were out they sounded insincere.

Ron finally looked at him. "Did Lupin know what it was?"

Harry nodded, glad for the subject change. "He gave him a potion for it."

Ron returned the nod, which Harry took for a sign of at least partial forgiveness. Somehow though, it did not make him feel any better.

"Someone will need to keep watch in case he wakes up during the night," Hermione said after a moment of silence. "I'll sleep here tonight. We can take shifts."

"No," Harry said right away. "What if Mrs. Weasley decides to check up on one of us? It's too risky."

"You can't be staying awake all night. What do you think she'll say when you fall asleep during breakfast?"

"I'll stay," Ron said.

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

"Mum never checks in on me," he said, "and if she checks here, I can just hide or something." He looked between them. "I promise, I won't try to kill him."

Harry glanced at Hermione, but she looked thoughtful. "This could work," she said.

That was the last thing Harry wanted to hear. There was a time when he would have wanted Ron with him, just to have someone to distract him. Now, though, the whole thing just made him uneasy. Still, he could not say anything without seeming suspicious, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Give me your hand," Hermione said to Ron. She drew her wand and waved it over his palm. "There's a locking spell on the door," she explained. "It'll only unlock for the three of us. This way you can get out if you need to."

Ron nodded, silently.

Harry glanced out the window. Night had already fallen. "Did you eat dinner in Diagon Alley?" he asked, worried that Mrs. Weasley might be downstairs waiting for them.

Ron shook his head. "Mum and Dad are upstairs arguing though, so I doubt there'll be any."

"I still think I should stay," Hermione said. "Let you get some more sleep."

"No," Harry said. "I told you, we can't risk it."

"All right," she said, nodding. "I'll see you in the morning then." She left the room.

"So," Ron said once she left, sitting on the edge of Harry's bed, "what happened?"

Harry gave him a quick version of the events since he left. Ron listened quietly, though he seemed surprised when Harry got to the part about Lupin not promising to keep it secret. Harry left out the bit about Lupin making the potion for werewolves and the question Lupin asked him though, knowing that Ron would probably understand even less than he did.

"So, he'll be here again tomorrow," Ron said when Harry had finished.

Harry nodded. "But you won't have to get your parents out this time. He can just Apparate in."

Ron seemed to relax a little.

"So," Harry said slowly. "Is Ginny all right?"

"Hard to say," Ron said. "She barely got a word in, except telling everyone to calm down."

"Was it that bad?"

Ron looked at him pointedly. "Have _you_ ever seen my dad yell?"

Harry could not say that he had. He tried to picture Mr. Weasley yelling, but he drew a blank.

"When George started defending Ginny, I thought Mum was going to strangle him," Ron continued. "It took both him and Fred to keep her from going after Ginny when she ran off upstairs."

"We should've come up with a better way to get Lupin here," Harry said.

Ron shrugged. "It would've happened eventually. Dad could only hold Mum back so long. And it did go better than it could have." He gave a strained laugh. "At least Mum didn't drag her back by her hair."

Harry forced a small smile. During the moment of silence that followed, he saw Ron glance at Malfoy. "So," Harry said, "you're really all right with this?"

Another shrug. "Honestly? I don't know yet." Ron paused a moment. "You said he's probably not going to wake until morning?"

Harry nodded.

"Then I'll take first shift." Ron stood. "Get some sleep."

Harry's initial impulse was to argue, but he saw the logic behind it, so he went to his bed to lay down. When he turned his head to glance at Ron again, he saw him sitting in the corner with his back propped against the wall. He had a sudden mental flash of Malfoy sitting in that very same spot and felt his stomach do an uneasy flip. If that was not bad enough, Ron spotted the chess board and scattered chess pieces then and started to gather them up to practice. Harry flipped over onto his other side and squeezed his eyes shut.

He stood on an island in the middle of a dark cave, lit only by emerald light from the nearby basin and from the goblet in his hand. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and the greatest wizard of his time, knelt in front of him, shaking and babbling.

"It's all my fault, all my fault. Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please, make it stop and I'll never, never again..."

Harry continued forcing the potion down Dumbledore's throat, refilling it each time from the basin. He tried to offer some words of comfort, while trying his best to ignore the words that poured from Dumbledore's mouth.

"KILL ME!"

Harry continued making his false promises, a part of him knowing what would happen next. When Dumbledore fell unconscious, he rushed forward, using a reviving spell.

Dumbledore's eyes shot open, but there was something different about them. The color seemed to have dulled almost to gray. "Water," he rasped.

Harry frantically fumbled with the goblet and started to say the spell to fill it with water.

But his wand was gone.

_Wait_, a small, insignificant voice in the back of his mind said.

Just as he thought to turn to the lake around the island, a cold hand closed over his arm. He looked over to see the corpse staring back with blind eyes. The other Inferi were crawling up onto shore all around him now.

_My wand was here,_ the voice said, this time a little stronger.

As the Inferi moved into the light, he began to recognize faces. Ministry officials...Order members...teachers...classmates...his best friends, all of them reaching out blindly toward him.

_It doesn't happen this way_.

The first wave reached him, their clammy hands clasping his robe, backing him up until he stood just over Dumbledore's still form.

"It doesn't happen this way," he whispered.

A hand closed around his ankle and he cried out, stumbling. He tried to catch himself, but his arms and legs did not seem to be working properly. As he hit the ground, he whipped his head back to look at Dumbledore.

But it was not Dumbledore.

Malfoy lay in his place, his face just as drawn and haggard, a hand wrapped tightly around Harry's ankle. He opened his mouth, but the voice that came sounded far off and was not his.

"Harry."

"It doesn't happen this way!" Harry yelled and the world around him dissolved into nothingness.

"Harry! Wake up!"

Harry's eyes shot open to find a blue pair staring back. Still in a haze and his stomach roiling, he tried to scramble backwards, but the sheets were wrapped tightly around his body, restricting most of his movement. His heart leapt into his throat as he frantically struggled to get free.

A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard. "Harry!"

Harry finally snapped back to reality and looked up at Ron, who knelt beside him, pale-faced with fear in his eyes. "What happened?" he asked, unraveling the sheets so he could sit up. He noticed now that he was lying on the floor, which would explain the dull throb of pain in his back and head.

"I don't know," Ron said, his hands dropping to his sides. "I thought you were having a fit or something. You started screaming and rolled off the bed." His eyes widened. "Was it...?"

Harry shook his head, knowing immediately what Ron was going to ask. He was remembering another time Harry had woken up so violently: during fifth year, after dreaming about the attack on Arthur Weasley. Though not prophetic, this dream was just as disturbing.

Harry propped himself up against the wall and pressed the heels of his palms over his eyes, trying to push the images from his mind, but they kept coming back. Behind his eyelids, he saw Ron and Hermione, their flesh gray and cold, eyes unfocused and staring. He shuddered.

"Then what was it?" Ron asked.

Harry hesitated a moment, then dropped his hands and shrugged. "I don't remember."

Ron blinked and narrowed his eyes. "You don't remember?"

"I don't remember," Harry repeated firmly, pushing himself to his feet. His knees threatened to buckle, but he planted a hand against the wall and managed to keep his balance. He squinted at the other bed, where Malfoy still lay unmoving. "He didn't wake up yet?"

Ron shook his head as he stood up. "I was going to let you sleep another hour."

"Well, I'm awake now." Harry pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger for a moment, then reached for his glasses. "You can go back to your room if you want. I'll start my shift."

"I can stay—"

"And sleep? You might as well go in case your mum _does_ decide to look in on you in the morning."

"All right." Ron moved to the door and hesitated, as though he were going to say something else. Then, he left.

Harry sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed at his eyes again. The details of the dream were starting to blur now, and he was having a hard time figuring out what was dream and what was actual memory. The only thing that stuck with him was the image of Malfoy lying on the ground at the edge of death.

He glanced at the other bed. He did not have to remember the dream; he was living it.

_I think you need to ask yourself why you're helping Malfoy_, Lupin had said.

"I don't know," Harry muttered.

By the time the sun rose, he still had no idea, and Malfoy was as unresponsive as ever. He got up, stretching his stiff muscles and moving to his trunk, shifting the things inside around until he found a fresh pair of clothes to wear. As he pulled them out, he spotted two wands, his and Malfoy's, laying side by side underneath. He picked up his and held it for a moment. He really should have been carrying it around with him, but he never really thought about it.

A sudden noise made him straighten up, brandishing his wand. There was a pause, then another noise as Malfoy moaned and started shifting in his sleep. Harry sighed and lowered his hand, though he kept the wand clutched tightly in his fist. He started toward the bed, and, when he got there, Malfoy whispered something unintelligible.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Am I dead?" Malfoy repeated hoarsely, not opening his eyes yet.

"No."

"I thought not." His eyes fluttered open now and focused on Harry. He wrinkled his nose. "Now there's a lovely vision to wake up to."

Harry noted the sarcasm, but for once, the anger was easy to push down.

"So," Malfoy continued, bracing his hands on either side of him and slowly pulling himself up into a sitting position, "what did I have? Dragon pox? Lupus?"

"Lupin called it a Pauper's Infection," Harry said.

Malfoy laughed a little, winced, and put a hand to his chest. "Now that's irony," he wheezed.

Harry reached immediately for the glass Hermione had left on the bedside table and pointed his wand at it, filling it with water.

Malfoy grabbed the water and downed half in a matter of seconds. When he regained control of himself, he lowered his hands, cradling the glass in his lap and staring down into it. "So, the werewolf knows, too," he said in a dull voice. "Who's next? Moody? Scrimgeour?"

"Lupin saved your life," Harry said. He was not sure exactly what sort of response he wanted. Anything was better than the cold indifference he was getting now.

As though sensing what he was thinking, Malfoy merely shrugged.

Harry let out a disgusted sigh and crossed to the other side of the room.

"What?" Malfoy said. "What did you expect? For me to be grateful? Or did you want me to insult you and call your mother a Mudblood?"

Harry clenched his fists, but he stayed rooted to the spot. Getting upset would just be playing right into Malfoy's hands. "There's a potion," he said, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible. He pointed to the vials sitting out on the bedside table. "You have to take it twice a day."

In the very least, he had managed to change the subject. "Great," Malfoy muttered, glancing at the table out of the corner of his eye. "I suppose I have to take it now, then?" He set the glass down and picked up a vial before receiving an answer.

"You should know," Harry said, "it's probably going to—"

"Hurt? I know. I do read, Potter." He uncorked the vial and lifted it in a mock toast. "Cheers." He threw his head back, swallowing the potion all at once.

For a split second, nothing happened. Then Malfoy let out a strangled noise, squeezing his eyes shut. The bottle slipped from his hand, and he hunched over. He heaved, the water he just drank coming right back up onto the bedspread. Every muscle in his body seemed to seize up again. His knees and elbows bent inward, his fingers partially clenching until they looked like claws. He remained in this position for several moments, unmoving, not even breathing.

It was over just as suddenly as it began. Malfoy drew in a sharp breath and settled back against the headboard, his arms falling limply at his side. He stared down at his hands, his lips parted slightly and breathing harshly.

"Are you—?" Harry started.

"Don't pretend you care, Potter," Malfoy snapped. He retrieved the empty vial and tossed it in the rubbish bin. "You're terrible at lying."

While Harry was trying to decide whether or not to take that as an insult, there was a loud knock at the door. "It's me," Hermione's voice called through the door.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Just a minute," He used his wand to clean up the mess Malfoy had made on his blankets and went to open the door. As soon as she stepped in, he shut the door.

"Is he...?" She trailed off as her eyes found Malfoy. She glanced back at Harry. "Where's Ron?"

"After he finished his shift, we thought it'd be better if he just went back to his room. What are you doing here?"

"I just thought I'd check in before breakfast. Did he take the potion already?"

"Yeah." Harry glanced at Malfoy, but he seemed to be off in his own world now, staring at the ceiling.

Hermione looked briefly too, then turned her attention back to Harry. "It's about time for breakfast. Should I tell them you're still not feeling well?"

"No," he said immediately, "we can't risk having anyone come up to check on me."

"Good point. We'd better get down there then."

When they got to the kitchen, they found Mr. Weasley standing at the counter, frowning at the toaster. "Morning, you two," he muttered.

"Good morning," Hermione said. She glanced around. "Where's Mrs. Weasley?"

"She isn't feeling well," he said shortly. He plucked two slightly burnt pieces of toast out of the toaster and divided them between two plates on the table. "Breakfast might be a while." He stuck two more slices of bread in the toaster and turned to the stove to cook some eggs. "I suppose Ron already told you what happened."

"Yeah," Harry said as he and Hermione sat down.

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I tried to tell her it was too soon," he said, sliding two fried eggs onto each of the plates and retrieving two more pieces of toast from the toaster, "that we should wait until things cooled off. You two can go ahead and start eating."

"Is Ginny all right?" Hermione asked, picking up a piece of toast.

"She's upset and probably not going to speak to us again for a while. Other than that, I think she'll be fine."

Harry tried to eat, but the combination of burnt toast and the mention of Ginny made his stomach turn. He dropped the half-eaten piece of toast back on the plate, fidgeting in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

Ron walked in a few minutes after Mr. Weasley had finished making a third plate of food. He made no comment on his mother not being there, taking the seat a few down from Harry and staring down at his plate. If possible, he seemed even less interested in food than Harry was. Even Hermione was pushing her eggs around on her plate now.

"Well, aren't we a cheerful lot this morning," Mr. Weasley said, buttering a piece of toast for himself, though he showed no sign of wanting to eat it.

Time dragged on slowly. No one ate anything, yet no one seemed to want to leave either. Harry's eyes flitted to the clock constantly. He was supposed to meet Lupin in fifteen minutes. He searched his mind, trying to find some reason to excuse himself, but he drew a blank.

Finally, at ten minutes to the hour, Mr. Weasley put down his toast. "I should go check on Molly," he said, not quite looking at any of them. He wandered out of the room.

The moment the footsteps faded away, Hermione dropped her fork. "Let's go."

When they got to the room, Malfoy was still sitting in the same place they had left him. He glanced at them out of the corner of his eye when they entered, but otherwise did not move.

Hermione waved her wand at the door and turned to Harry. "Lupin's probably already there," she said. "Go."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating on the park by Grimmauld Place. He felt the squeezing sensation of Apparition and, when it ended, opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by trees.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

Harry whirled around to see Lupin leaning up against a tree behind him. "I had to make sure no one would be suspicious," he said.

Lupin nodded his approval. "Sirius and I always told the Order you were smarter than they gave you credit for. Is he awake?"

"Yeah, he woke up a few hours ago."

"Good. He's still in the twins' room, I'd imagine?"

"Yes."

Lupin drew his wand. "After you, then."

Harry nodded, concentrated, and a second later he was standing in front of Ron and Hermione again. Hermione opened her mouth, but, once again, before she could say anything, there was a loud crack and Lupin appeared a few feet away.

Lupin glanced at Ron first. "I see you're all in on this," he said. Then, he looked at Malfoy, who still had not moved, and reached into his pocket, drawing out a vial of clear potion. "I have a small modification to my request to speak with him. I hope no one will object."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his eyes flitting from the vial to Malfoy, who had gone rigid. Even Hermione's eyes had widened. Only Ron looked confused.

"Veritaserum," Hermione said, and Ron's expression changed to surprise as well.

"Yes," Lupin said, "I thought we would be best served in finding out the real reason he's here."

"But we know why he's here," Hermione said. "I found him in the alley myself."

"We can never be too careful, especially when dealing with a Death Eater." Lupin turned his attention on Harry, giving him an odd look. "I would prefer to interrogate him alone."

Harry felt a tight grip on his arm and looked down to see Malfoy clutching it, his face gray and fear in his eyes. Until now, Harry had not even realized that he had moved so close to the bed.

They were all looking at him now, so he had no choice but to pull his arm roughly away. He moved several steps from the bed just to be safe and nodded. "How long do you need?"

"An hour, at most," Lupin said. "I'll put an Imperturbable charm on the door after you leave. When I take the charm down, you can come back in."

Harry nodded again and, making a special effort not to look back, led the way out.

"Did you see the look on his face?" Ron said the moment the door had shut. "I knew there was something off about all this."

"Ron—" Hermione started.

"Why would he be so scared if he has nothing to hide?" Ron asked.

Hermione clamped a hand over Ron's mouth. "Shh," she said softly, glancing around to make sure no one else was around. "We'll wait to see what Lupin says," She looked at Harry. "Then we'll go from there."

Harry knew she wanted confirmation, so he nodded, but he glanced uneasily back at the door. He had a feeling he knew the real reason why Malfoy was scared, because the same thing was bothering him. If Lupin asked the right questions...

"Harry!" Ron waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his daze.

"What?"

"I asked if you wanted to get in some Quidditch practice,'" he said. "You know, get our minds off of this. You two could borrow Fred and George's old brooms."

The idea of playing Quidditch did not appeal to Harry in the least, but he knew nothing else would either. "Quidditch sounds good," he said.

Harry and Ron spent the next hour flying low around the shed out back, trying to catch the apples that Hermione threw in all directions. She hovered just a few feet above the ground, not moving around much. Harry and Ron tried to get her to fly around some, but she refused, saying that she had had quite enough flying this summer to last her a lifetime.

As much as he had initially been against the idea, the moment Harry was in the air, he was glad he had agreed. He left his worries behind on the ground, the tension going out out of him. He caught every apple that Hermione threw at him. He even chucked a few at Ron, who swore every time one hit him, and laughed for what felt the first time in ages.

"We should probably head back in," Hermione said all too soon. She and Ron both landed and looked up expectantly.

Harry hesitated, hovering just above the shed and looking up at the window to the twins room. He did not want to go back. At that moment, he wanted to just leave, fly off somewhere no one could find him. Somewhere he could forget about Malfoy and the Horcruxes and Voldemort.

"Harry?" Hermione called, her hands cupped around her mouth.

Harry sighed and descended, dismounting from his broom. His feet hit the ground, and all of the worry came rushing back to him. He accepted it all, rearranged his face into what he hoped was a blank expression, and started up toward the house, the other two falling in behind him.

On the landing, Harry reached for the doorknob, hesitated for a moment, and then turned it. He pushed the door open.

He looked toward the bed first. Malfoy still sat in the same spot, his hands folded in his lap, staring listlessly at them. Lupin sat in the desk chair, his fingers interlocked under his chin and seeming to be deep in thought. When the door shut, he looked over, but did not speak.

"Well?" Hermione said.

"He's been telling the truth," Lupin said. All the while he spoke, he never took his eyes off Harry. "It seems Snape was keeping him until Voldemort was ready to pass judgment on him. He did run away." He stood. "If you two don't mind, I'd like to talk to Harry alone for a moment."

Harry's heart hammered in his chest as the other two nodded and left the room. No doubt they assumed that whatever it was, he would tell them about it later. The moment they were gone, Lupin flicked his wand at the door again.

In an effort to avoid Lupin's gaze, Harry focused instead on Malfoy, who did not seem to even realize that anyone else was in the room.

"The potion hasn't worn off yet," Lupin said. "He should come out of it soon."

Harry nodded silently, wishing that he would just get it over with.

Lupin seemed to notice his impatience and spoke again. "Have a seat." When Harry sat on the edge of his bed, he sighed and started pacing, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Harry. It's just...God knows, Sirius would have been a lot better at this."

Harry looked up, wondering what Sirius had to do with anything.

Lupin sat in the desk chair again, leaning forward a bit with his hands folded and full attention on Harry. "Well, I may not be your godfather, but I want you to know, you can talk to me about anything."

Harry just stared, silently willing him to get to the point.

Lupin sighed again. "This is harder than I thought," he muttered. "You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to. I just...I want you to be careful. And if you ever want to talk about anything, just come find me." He stood up and Disapparated without another word.

Harry stared at the spot where Lupin had disappeared for a long time, trying to figure out what that was all about. He had been sure that Lupin was going to berate him, but now he was just confused. Maybe Lupin did not really know. But then, what was all that about?

"He's worse than you, Potter."

Harry jumped and glanced around. Malfoy looked the same as he had before, except that now his blank stare was fixed on the wall.

"What did you tell him?" Harry asked.

Malfoy blinked and winced, massaging his temples.

"What did you tell him?" Harry repeated a little louder.

"I don't remember, all right?" he said. "He asked why I was in the alley. It's a blur after that."

"Shit." Harry wrung his hands and paced the length of the room.

"Why are _you_ so worried? Nobody's going to care if the Boy Who Lived is getting some."

"Then why were you scared?"

Malfoy dropped his hands to his sides. "Because if just one person finds out and takes it the wrong way, I won't even survive to see a trial."

Harry stopped in his tracks, looking back at Malfoy. His face and voice betrayed no emotion, as though the prospect of death did not faze him in the least. Coupled with the fear Harry had seen in him earlier, none of this made any sense.

"Better go find your friends, Potter," Malfoy said. "They'll think something's going on."

Much as Harry did not want to admit it, Malfoy was right. So, he started for the door.

"Before you go," Malfoy said behind him, a slight edge to his voice, as though he did not really want to say it, "can you bring me the chessboard? Since I'm stuck in bed, I might as well have something to do."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but since it would keep Malfoy from complaining, he retrieved the board. Since the pieces were scattered all over the room, he got his wand out of his trunk and used a summoning spell on them. He deposited them at the foot of Malfoy's bed and turned for the door again, hoping that was the end of it. Thankfully, it was.

When he opened the door, Ron and Hermione were waiting for him on the landing.

"Well?" Hermione said. "What did Lupin say?"

Harry shrugged, stepping out of the room and shutting the door. "Nothing important."

The other two exchanged a quick look, then Ron spoke. "Dad wants me to de-gnome the garden. Do you want to help?"

"Sure," Harry said. He hoped throwing gnomes would be as distracting as flying.

- - - - -

Author's note: There's no telling when the next chapter will be up, but I'll do my best not to make you all wait too long. Next chapter (tentative, as always): Malfoy continues to find new ways to be a pain, Hermione brings up her new ideas on the Horcruxes, and Harry is deeply, deeply confused.


	9. Chapter 9: Showers and Spells

Author's Note: Thanks very much to all reviewers! It's odd, now that school's started, I seem to be writing less, but updating more often. Eventually my updates will catch up to my writing though, and things will probably slow way down then. As always, enjoy.

Edit: After receiving a couple specific reports about some grammatical errors, I've resubmitted an edited version of this chapter. The content is the same, just with a few punctuation marks corrected.

- - - - -

Chapter 9: Showers and Spells

Mrs. Weasley did not come downstairs until near dinnertime. Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the morning de-gnoming the garden and much of the afternoon helping Mr. Weasley track down some chickens that had run off. By the time they got back inside, they were all covered in dirt and exhausted.

Against Mrs. Weasley's insistence, Mr. Weasley took it upon himself to make dinner that night. After a making a few brave attempts at using the stove, he retrieved some leftover chicken from the fridge and started making sandwiches.

Harry had not planned to eat much, but the moment he set eyes on the food, he found he was starving. He finished his first sandwich in a few seconds and reached for another.

Halfway through the meal, Mrs. Weasley, who had barely taken three bites of her sandwich, stood up suddenly and walked out. Only then did Harry see the family clock tucked under her arm. Though he could not see it from that angle, he was willing to bet all of the names were still pointing to "mortal peril."

Mr. Weasley shook his head, putting down the sandwich he had been about to eat. "I'm sorry," he said, standing up and piling a few sandwiches on a plate. "If you want more, the chicken's in the fridge." He hurried off after Mrs. Weasley.

The moment he was gone, Hermione was on her feet. She pulled the chicken back out and started making more sandwiches, in spite of the fact that she had not even finished her first one.

"I swear," Ron said through gritted teeth, glaring down at his plate, "the next time I see Ginny, I'm going to kill her."

"She didn't know this would happen," Harry said.

"She should have."

"I have to agree," Hermione said. "It was very irresponsible of her."

"Uh...Hermione?" Harry said.

"Hmm? Oh." Her hands stopped moving as she looked down at the rather sizable stack of sandwiches she had built. She reached out and piled about half of them onto Harry's plate. "You'd better take those upstairs. He's probably getting hungry. If anyone asks about the plate, just say you wanted to eat alone or something."

Harry stared numbly down at the plate. He really did not want to go back up there.

"If you're not up for it, I'll go," Hermione offered.

"No," Harry said, forcing himself to his feet. He felt their eyes on him as he picked up the plate and started out of the room, but he made an effort not to look back.

Unsurprisingly, when Harry got back to the room, he found Malfoy puzzling over a half-finished chess game. His face was scrunched in concentration, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. When he reached out to move a piece, his hand seemed to tremble just from the effort of lifting it.

"I brought food." The words sounded stupid the moment Harry said them.

Malfoy did not move at first, then he slumped back against the headboard, his eyes narrowing into slits. Then, after a few moments, he shook his head and looked over.

"Perfect," he muttered, reaching over to the table and picking up a vial. His hand shook so violently Harry thought he might drop it, but somehow he managed to keep his grip.

"Don't you want to eat first?" Harry asked, setting the plate down.

"I didn't know you were so eager to clean up my vomit, Potter." Malfoy's voice strained and cracked so badly it was hard to tell what he was saying. Before Harry could think too long on that, he put the vial to his lips and downed the potion.

The effects were much the same as the last time, except that when Malfoy retched, nothing came up. It took longer for him to recover this time, however. His muscles relaxed slowly and, after a long pause, he finally sat back. His mouth hung open, a soft, dry rattle issuing with every harsh breath.

"Are you—?" Harry started to say automatically.

Malfoy tried to cut him off, but all that came out was a hacking sound, like a cat trying to cough up a fur ball. Harry took the hint and quickly retrieved his wand and the glass off the table, filling it with water.

Malfoy gulped the water down greedily. He had only finished half of the glass, however, when he choked suddenly, clutching his throat and lowering the glass. Tendrils of red sunk into the water, slowly spreading throughout. He coughed a couple more times before bowing his head, staring down into the glass with a dull look on his face.

Harry waited a moment or two, but Malfoy did not move. So, he pointed his wand at the glass, using a vanishing spell and then filling it back up with water. Malfoy took a few more sips from it and then settled back against the headboard, his eyes closed.

Just as Harry was starting to think Malfoy had fallen asleep, his eyes opened again. "You know," he said, his voice barely a whisper, "you don't have to fill the glass every time. There's a better way."

"What?" Harry said.

"_Aguamenti iugis purgo_. Try it."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but he pointed his wand and said the spell. The glass filled back to the top with water. Malfoy took another drink and, when he lowered the glass, Harry saw that the water level had not changed.

"They never taught us that spell," Harry said. He had never even heard a three-word spell before.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "_Aguamenti...iugis...purgo_. Conjure water...refill...purify. It's not all memorization, Potter. You know, I'm amazed you've survived this long being so stupid."

Harry clenched his fists, but clamped his jaw shut. He would not let Malfoy wind him up.

Malfoy did not seem to notice anything amiss. He transferred the glass back over to the table, nearly spilling it with his unsteady hands. Then, he sat up straighter so he could reach the plate of sandwiches, selecting one off the top and staring down at it.

Harry had an itch on the back of his neck, so he reached up to scratch it. When he looked down at his hand, there was dirt caked under his fingernails. He wrinkled his nose, mentally cursing all gnomes. He opened his mouth to tell Malfoy that he was going to take a shower but held back at the last minute. He did not owe any explanations to Malfoy. So, he wordlessly retrieved some clean clothes from his trunk, and went to the bathroom.

Once the door was shut, Harry stripped down and stepped into the shower, turning on the faucet. A stream of icy water hit him square in the chest, and he grimaced, bracing one hand on the wall and gripping the curtain with the other. Finally, after a short wait, the water warmed.

Harry stood under the scalding water for a few minutes, hoping it would burn out some of his anger. He shut his eyes and let the water flow over his face until he could not stand it anymore. He reached out then, turned the temperature down a bit, and grabbed the soap.

The shower took a lot longer than Harry had anticipated. Dirt seemed to have found its way into every little crevice of his body, some of which were very hard to reach. It also clung to him like a living entity, forcing him to scrub his arms until they were bright pink and sensitive to the touch. His hair was the most stubborn. He washed it three times before finally deciding it was good enough. Streams of dirty water flowed past his feet and down the drain. By the time Harry gave up, the sun had set outside, leaving just a dim light to see by, and he was exhausted.

Then, just as Harry drew back the curtain, he heard a loud thump from the other side of the door, followed by a muffled yelp. His heart leapt into his throat, and he nearly fell over. He quickly wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed his glasses, and rushed out of the bathroom, his feet slipping and sliding the whole way, as his mind started forming terrible thoughts of what that sound could have been.

When he stepped out, he found Malfoy lying on the floor next to his bed in the semi-darkness, struggling to catch his breath. His covers were strewn half on the bed, half on the floor, and the chess pieces were once again scattered everywhere.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Harry asked.

Malfoy looked up, still breathing heavily, but managing a sneer. "Admiring the view. I think the Weasels are breeding mutant dust bunnies under my bed."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh and rolled his eyes. "Are you hurt?"

Malfoy made a weak attempt at trying to get up, lifting himself a few inches, and he hit the floor again, wincing. "Oh, I'm just brilliant. I'm sure the bruises on my arse are going to feel just lovely in the morning."

Harry ignored the sarcasm and walked over to Malfoy, crouching down and reaching out to grasp his arm to help him up. Malfoy seemed almost grateful for the help at first, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

But then, there was a sudden gleam of mischief in Malfoy's eyes and before Harry could react, Malfoy's free hand reached up under his towel. The moment the skin made contact, Harry straightened up and leapt backwards, leaving Malfoy to crash back down to the floor.

"Ow." Malfoy pushed himself back up on shaky arms, rubbing his chin where it had slammed into the floor. "I always told everyone you were a nutter, but no one ever believed me."

"What are you playing at?" Harry asked furiously, not even daring to look down at himself to see what the damage was. By the smirk on Malfoy's face, he guessed that it was not good. "Never mind, I don't want to know. You can get yourself back into bed." With that, he turned on his heel and walked quickly back to the bathroom.

Harry leaned against the door for a long time, his hand pressed to his forehead. Malfoy was just trying to wind him up. That was exactly the way it had always been since the moment they met. How was this any different than before?

Because this time, it was working.

Harry stumbled over to the counter, bracing his hands against it, and forced himself to look at his reflection. His hair was still dripping wet, and he could not tell if the beads of moisture on his body were water, sweat, or both. He was entirely too pale, though not nearly as much so as Malfoy, with just a slight tinge of pink in his cheeks from the summer heat.

His grip on the counter tightened. Malfoy should not be able to do this to him. Make him angry, sure, but not this. Because no matter how hard he tried, he could not get anger out of this. There was frustration, and lots of it, but mostly, Harry was just confused.

He loved Ginny. There was no question about that. He missed her with every fiber of his being. He wanted her to come back more than anything.

So how could Malfoy have affected him like this?

Harry sucked in a quick breath. There was something else he had not considered. All this time he had assumed that Malfoy was just doing this to spite him, but the longer he thought about it, the more he started to wonder. Malfoy had been acting strange for days, not quite like himself. The infection could account for some of that, but not all. But if it was not out of spite, then what was it?

_It's your move, Potter_, Malfoy's voice echoed in Harry's mind, making him shudder involuntarily.

Harry pushed himself back from the counter and reached for his clothes. It did not matter what the reason was. All that mattered was keeping it from ever happening again.

In the sweltering heat, Harry was hesitant to put on a full set of clothes just to sleep in. After what had just happened though, he thought more than ever that it was absolutely necessary. He toweled himself off as much as he could, but when he put his shirt on, some water still leaked through the fabric, and his jeans felt damp and uncomfortable. He sighed and ran his hands through his damp hair. It would have to do.

This time, when Harry stepped out of the bathroom, he was calm. He glanced around the room until he found Malfoy, who had managed to drag himself into his favorite corner and settled down there with his back pressed flat against the wall.

"Oh, I don't believe this," Harry muttered. "What is with you and that bloody corner?"

Malfoy looked up with a smirk and shrugged. "You look a bit warm, Potter. Don't tell me you actually plan to sleep like that."

Harry ignored him, walking over to his bed. He lay down, taking off his glasses and turning onto his side so he stared off toward the door. As he closed his eyes, he found comfort in the fact that he knew Malfoy did not have the strength to come anywhere near him at the moment.

-

Cold hands groped at Harry's arms as the corpses of his friends and the Order closed in around him. "What do you want?" he tried to scream at them, but he had no voice. The hand closed over his ankle, and he fell. He looked up to Malfoy's gaunt face staring at him, his mouth moving but no words coming out.

Harry woke to the light of early dawn, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling and trying to get himself back under control. It was just a dream. He had had dreams more disturbing than this. Hell, he had lived through events more disturbing than this. But none of that changed the dread that sank into his stomach when he recalled the feeling of those dead hands on his arms and saw those dead eyes looking into his.

Harry mentally shook himself and sat up, reaching for his glasses. Malfoy was slumped over in his corner again, as though he had just fallen over from sheer exhaustion. Harry's first instinct was to go check on him, but the memory of what Malfoy did the night before held him back.

A knock on the door made Harry jump. He had just opened his mouth to ask who it was when the lock clicked and the door swung open.

"Sorry, if I'm waking you up, I just—oh." Hermione stood in the doorway, a plate of toast in her hands. She was wearing a knee-length skirt with a t-shirt and had her hair pulled up off her neck, but her face was still pink and glistening with sweat. "Are you all right? You don't look well."

"I'm fine. It's just..." Harry settled on the first thing that popped into his head. "It's _hot_."

"I know," Hermione said as she stepped in and shut the door. "It's weird, isn't it? I mean, it wasn't this bad a few days ago." She glanced at Malfoy. "I see he managed to find his way back to his corner."

"Yeah," Harry said shortly. He really did not want to talk about Malfoy.

"Anyway, I brought some breakfast," she said, setting the plate on the bedside table. "I thought I should bring it up early so no one would get suspicious."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, but he made no move to eat. The thought of food made him queasy.

"And I thought I should remind you, the stasis spell needs to be renewed today."

Harry gave a small start. With everything that had happened, he had completely forgotten about the spell.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hermione sat at the foot of Harry's bed, looking him right in the eye.

"I'm fine," Harry said, trying not to sound irritated.

"Then there's something else we need to talk about." She looked to the corner once more and then lowered her voice. "The Horcruxes."

This time, Harry felt a deep dread settle in his stomach.

His unease must have shown on his face, because Hermione smiled grimly. "I know," she said. "I forgot about them too until last night." She pulled a small bit of parchment from the waistband of her skirt, unfolding it for Harry to see. "I made a list of all of them: the ones that are gone and the ones...the ones that aren't. I thought if we went through them one by one, we might think of something."

Harry looked down at the list. The first two things on it, the diary and the ring, were checked off. The locket and the cup were written next, followed by Nagini with a question mark beside it. Then, she had written "unknown," underneath which there was a lot of smudged ink.

"What's this?" Harry asked, point toward the bottom of the list.

"Oh." Something that looked like apprehension passed through Hermione's eyes, but it was gone before Harry could be sure exactly what it was. "I was trying to figure out what the last one might be, but nothing really fit."

Harry looked at her for a moment, but decided not pursue it. "Well, we're back where we were with the locket. All we've got is a fake and a set of initials."

"Well, I actually had an idea," she said hesitantly, "but I don't think you're going to like it."

"What is it?"

Another pause. "We need to talk to Lupin again."

Before Harry could even come up with a response, a sudden, rasping noise made them both look around. Malfoy, still curled up on his side, seemed to be having a coughing fit, his whole body convulsing with each cough.

"We'd better talk later," Hermione said, hastily folding the paper up and tucking it away. "I'll get Ron. When you finish up here, meet us out by the shed."

Harry nodded and, as she left the room, started turning the idea over in his mind. Lupin had certainly proven himself trustworthy these past couple days, but Harry was hesitant to entrust him with too much.

"Talk to Lupin about what?"

Harry jumped and turned toward the corner. Malfoy had regained control of himself by now and pushed himself back up into a sitting position. His voice still sounded thin and there was a feverish tinge to his cheeks, but he at least seemed to be better than the night before. A dark purple bruise ran along his jaw where it had hit the floor the previous night.

"How much did you hear?" Harry demanded.

"Apparently not enough. So, what are we talking to the werewolf about?"

"_We_ are not doing anything, and it's none of your business."

Malfoy shook his head, rolling his eyes. "I will find out, Potter. Right now, I'm not certain I care that much." He pinched a bit of fabric from his shirt between his fingers and lifted it up to his nose, sniffing it. He made a face. "You mind helping me to the shower, Potter?"

"What?" Harry said, praying that he had not heard right.

"Shower," Malfoy repeated slowly. "You know, hot water...soap...clean clothes, preferably. I know it's a foreign concept to you Potter, but—"

"Can't you go yourself?"

Malfoy looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I can't even stand on my own. What do you think?"

Harry hated to admit it, but Malfoy had a point. Still, as he stood up and approached Malfoy, the only thought that crossed his mind was, _Why me?_

When he reached the corner, Harry stopped for a moment, staring down at Malfoy.

Malfoy noticed his hesitation and smirked. "I don't bite, Potter." The tone of his voice made it sound very much like a lie.

Harry reminded himself that at least he was fully clothed this time, and stooped down, grabbing Malfoy by the arm and pulling.

Malfoy shot up onto his feet and stumbled forward, nearly knocking Harry over. Then, he leaned back and braced himself against the wall, his legs shaking. "Ow! What're you trying to do, pull my arm out of the socket?"

Harry ignored the comment, but he let go of Malfoy and waited. When Malfoy finally steadied himself and reached out to grasp his arm, Harry tried to ward off his discomfort. As long as he did not think about the fact that this was Malfoy, he should be able to manage.

The trip to the bathroom was agonizingly slow, and Harry felt as though he was teaching a child to walk. Malfoy could manage one or two stumbling steps on his own, but the rest of the time, he was leaning almost all of his weight on Harry.

When they got into the bathroom, Malfoy finally let go of Harry. "Shit!" He reached out with both hands and grabbed hold of the counter to keep from falling. "Where are you going?"

Harry, who had been moving toward the door, stopped, cringing. He knew what was coming next.

"What am I supposed to do when I fall down and crack my head open?" Malfoy asked.

"What did I do to deserve this?" Harry muttered under his breath and turned back.

Malfoy, however, did not move, staring down at the counter. "Do you think I'm _enjoying_ this, Potter?"

"Honestly? I don't know."

"Well, I'm not. So either put yourself to use or get out."

The latter option sounded very appealing, but Harry's conscious got the better of him, so he stayed put.

"All right," Malfoy said, shifting so that he just had one hand on the counter, holding the other arm out towards Harry. "Grab my sleeve."

Just getting Malfoy undressed was a trial. He was able to stand still on his own for long enough, but the moment he started to move around, his legs would go out from under him. Harry tried to help out without touching Malfoy, but that hope was quickly dashed. He had hold onto Malfoy's arm, looking away as the other boy unbuckled his belt and let his trousers fall. Then, Harry was forced to look back to help Malfoy unravel the bandages around his arm. He tried to be as careful as possible, but Malfoy still winced.

When they were finally done, they both stood for a moment, Malfoy watching Harry expectantly while Harry tried to keep his eyes focused on anything but Malfoy.

"Um..." Harry said, "can't you take a bath instead?"

Malfoy let out a dry laugh. "A _bath_? Potter, I haven't had a shower since the day I got here. Do you really think a bath is going to cut it? Come on, you know I won't do anything. I have absolutely no desire to fall down again."

Harry sighed, knowing that there was no way of getting out of this. He faced away from Malfoy, thinking it would be easier that way. He pulled his shirt off first, well aware of the eyes watching him from behind. When he got to his trousers, letting them drop to the floor, he braced himself, but there was only silence. When he turned around, Malfoy was not even looking at him, focusing instead on his reflection in the mirror.

"I look like hell," Malfoy muttered, gingerly touching the bruise on his chin.

Normally, Harry would have had a witty response to that, but at the moment, he just wanted to get this over with. So, he grabbed Malfoy's arm just above the elbow, tried not to flinch when Malfoy latched onto his arm with the other hand, and lead him toward the shower.

If getting Malfoy undressed was hard, the shower itself was sheer torture. First of all, the shower was hardly even big enough for two people. Not that it mattered much. As Malfoy picked up the soap and started to wash himself, almost every movement seemed to throw him off balance. Harry caught him the first few times, then just settled for holding onto him to keep him upright.

Harry tried to keep his mind clear of all thoughts. If he did not think about the fact that this was Malfoy, maybe it would be easier to get through it. Still, when Malfoy finally shut the water off, he was glad for it.

They stumbled awkwardly out of the shower, and Malfoy groped for the counter. Harry grabbed two towels, setting one on the counter so Malfoy could reach it and starting to dry himself off. When he noticed Malfoy looking at him, however, he stopped.

"What?"

"The stasis spell," Malfoy said in a strained voice.

"Can't it w—?"

Malfoy let out a strangled whimper, slipped, and hit the ground, clutching at his left arm.

Harry swore under his breath and dropped to his hands and knees. "Malfoy?" He gripped Malfoy's wrist, wrenching it out of his grasp. He sucked in a quick breath when he saw the vein of black ink spreading across the wound.

Malfoy muttered something unintelligible.

"What?" Harry said.

"Say the damn spell!" Malfoy said thickly, curling up on his side.

Harry mentally kicked himself for not thinking of that and reached for his discarded clothes, fumbling for his wand. He pointed it at Malfoy's arm, taking deep breaths in a vain attempt to stay calm. "_Desiit_," he said.

The ink stopped spreading and Malfoy's muscles went limp, his eyes slitted and his breathing ragged. His lips moved, but no words came out at first. Then, in a very quiet voice, he said, "_Perseco._"

Harry opened his mouth to ask what that was supposed to mean, but then he realized that it was a spell. He remembered what Hermione had done to remove the Mark last time and winced. Still, it was better than waiting for Voldemort to track them down, so he gripped his wand tightly and pointed it at the Mark. "_Perseco_."

A string of light about half the width of his finger shot out of his wand and sliced an uneven piece of Malfoy's wound off, though, luckily, it included all of the Mark. Malfoy cried out and curled up, his arm cradled against his body.

"Get rid of it!" he yelled in a slurred voice. "_Expello!_"

Harry used his towel to pick up the bit of flesh, bile rising in his throat. He stood and hurried to the window, throwing it open. "_Expello!_" The flesh rose up off the towel and shot off as though it had been blasted from a cannon, disappearing into the sky, leaving behind just a slightly bloody towel.

Harry closed the window and glanced back at Malfoy, who looked as though he would not be standing on his own anytime soon. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Brilliant," Malfoy said faintly. "Just brilliant."

Harry ignored the sarcasm this time. He went to the counter to get the bandages and knelt beside Malfoy, slowly wrapping the wound back up. As he did so, his eyes could not help but wander to the bruises on Malfoy's skin, great patches of purple and black on his arms, legs, and back, from falling down so much. When the bandages were secure, Harry gripped Malfoy's shoulders lightly, careful to avoid the bruises, and helped him sit up.

"Do you think you can stand?" Harry asked.

Malfoy let out a shaky breath and shrugged. Then, he lifted hands and placed them on Harry's shoulders. Harry took that to mean that he wanted to try, so he gripped Malfoy's elbows and slowly started to straighten. Malfoy's legs shook violently under him, forcing Harry to support most of his weight. By the time Harry stood upright, Malfoy's legs were still bowed and his hands clenched Harry's shoulders so tightly he grimaced.

Harry was about to start trying to transfer Malfoy over to holding onto the counter when suddenly Malfoy looked up and their eyes locked. Harry had just enough time to realize that he was far too close before Malfoy closed the distance, pressing his lips over Harry's with a sort of tired desperation.

Caught off guard, every thought in Harry's mind seemed to drop off uncompleted, and he acted on instinct, kissing back as he unconsciously pulled Malfoy in closer, his hands slipping down to his waist. Malfoy's arms wrapped securely around Harry's shoulders, one hand moving up into his hair.

Then, Malfoy broke the kiss for a fraction of a second to take a gasping breath, but it was just enough time for Harry to regain the ability to think. He gave Malfoy a small shove to break the grip on his neck and stepped back. Malfoy let out a yell of surprise, barely managing to latch onto the counter, his knees bent so low they almost touched the floor.

"You...fucking..._bastard!_" Malfoy spit out as he pushed himself back onto his feet, his face scrunched up in pain. "Hey! Where are you going?! _Potter!_"

But Harry had already scooped up his clothes, pulling them on as best he could as he fled from the bathroom. He shut the door, paused long enough in his room to pull his shirt on and tuck his wand away before heading out onto the landing.

-

"There you are," Hermione said. "What took you so long?"

"Don't ask," Harry muttered. He was lucky he had even remembered that he was supposed to be meeting Ron and Hermione. He could already see that they wanted to keep asking questions, so he took it upon himself to direct the subject in the right direction. "I don't think it's such a good idea to tell Lupin about the Horcruxes."

Hermione shook her head. "We don't have to. He was part of the old Order, and he has connections with the Death Eaters. He might be able to help us figure out who R.A.B. is."

Harry glanced at Ron next, who shrugged. "It's worth a try, isn't it? I mean, he doesn't have to know why we're asking."

Harry thought it over for a while, but the memory of his last conversation with Lupin made him hesitate. He still did not know for sure just how much Lupin had managed to get out of Malfoy. And if he did know...the mere thought of what Lupin might think made Harry's stomach turn.

"How would we even contact him?" Harry asked, looking at Ron. "I doubt you can get your parents out of the house again."

"Actually, it's already taken care of," Ron said. "We got an owl from Tonks this morning. She's finished the security system for the house and she needs us to clear out for a couple weeks so she can put it in place. Mum's having us pack up our things after lunch. We're going to stay at Grimmauld Place."

A silence stretched out, during which time Harry tried to avoid their gazes. "I just..." he said, finally grasping for an excuse, "I don't think we should bother him again. We're already asking too much from him. Besides, what are the chances that he knows?"

"Better than our chances of ever finding out if we don't ask him," Hermione said. She reached out and touched Harry's arm. "If he knew he could help, don't you think he would want to?"

Harry was sighed. He was stuck. He knew it. "So, we're leaving tonight?"

"Yeah," Ron said.

He nodded, and then dared to ask the crucial question. "What do we do about Malfoy?"

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: It's back to Grimmauld Place, where we will see several new faces, as well as a few familiar ones. Harry has a bloody lip, Lupin has secrets of his own, and R.A.B.'s identity is finally revealed. Again, I'll try not to take too long putting out the next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10: R A B

Author's Note: Many thanks to all reviewers! Wow, I didn't actually know that shower scenes were that popular. One reviewer commented that they felt bad for Draco and didn't know if that was my intention. It's my hope to give all characters some level of sympathy, so it's encouraging to hear that I seem to have succeeded with Draco. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 10: R.A.B.

Harry walked slowly back up the stairs after lunch, stealing himself up for what he had to do. Hermione had offered to help, but Harry had insisted that he do this himself. Malfoy was his responsibility. Besides, he had a feeling he would have better luck without her there.

Harry paused outside his door, wondering what he would find when he entered. He remembered how he had left Malfoy that morning: naked in the bathroom and barely able to stand on his own, and he shuddered. Still, he had to do this, so he took a deep breath and walked in.

He was rather surprised to find Malfoy sitting in his corner yet again, fully clothed, though closer inspection found that he had his shirt on backwards. He looked up the moment Harry walked in, his eyes full of contempt.

"It seems I underestimated you, Potter," Malfoy said. His voice still sounded weak.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked shortly.

"You're more Slytherin than I thought."

It sounded oddly like a compliment, but Harry still took offense. He had no time to act on it though. He would be expected back downstairs soon. "Tonks is going to put up wards around the house," he said, trying to figure out the best way to tell Malfoy exactly what was going to happen.

Malfoy's interest seemed piqued. "My cousin?" he said. "Bit of a grand undertaking for the Nymph. I heard she botches levitation spells."

"Everyone has to clear out of the house for a couple weeks while she does it."

Malfoy looked away, shaking his head slightly. "I'm not going back in that trunk."

Harry gave a small start. "I never said—"

"I'm not stupid, Potter."

"There's no other way."

"Well, you'll just have to think of one, because you'll have to kill me to get me back in there."

"That can be arranged," Harry snapped.

Malfoy smirked. "Empty threats."

Harry reached around to draw his wand from his back pocket. He felt a sort of grim satisfaction when he saw the flicker of fear in Malfoy's eyes. He did not need Malfoy's cooperation in this. He could get him in the trunk himself.

A sudden knock on the door made Harry jump. "Harry," Hermione called through the door.

"I'm still packing," he said.

"Please let me in. Lupin and Tonks are here."

Lupin? Why was he there? Harry's hand wavered, then he dropped it to his side and went to the door. He opened it a crack to make sure it was only her before stepping back to let her in.

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, then at Harry's wand. "Lupin came to help Tonks lay the groundwork for the spell. He said to give you this." She placed a folded bit of parchment in Harry's hand and lowered her voice. "Read fast. They're expecting us back downstairs soon." With that, she turned and left the room.

Harry turned his attention immediately to the parchment. He opened it to find a quickly scrawled message with another, smaller bit of paper folded inside.

_Harry,_

_I had to ransack the house, but I managed to find an extra one. Whatever you're planning, this should help._

_R.J. Lupin_

Uncomprehending, Harry picked up the other paper and unfolded it. All it said was, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," in handwriting that looked familiar.

Then, it clicked. It was Dumbledore's writing. Dumbledore was the Secret Keeper for Grimmauld Place. Malfoy had to read this note before they could even get him into the house.

Harry folded the paper back up and moved closer to Malfoy, holding it out to him. "Read this," he said.

Malfoy just looked at him. "I'm not going back in that trunk."

"I know," Harry said. "I'll think of something else."

Malfoy hesitated another moment. Finally, he reached up with a shaky hand and took the slip of paper.

Harry gave him a few seconds to look at it, and then raised his wand. Malfoy's head shot up, a look of terror on his face, but Harry had already made up his mind. "_Stupefy_."

Malfoy's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped onto the floor. Harry went to his trunk, performing the expansion spell as Hermione had told him to earlier. He packed all his clothes and Malfoy's potions into it. He then levitated Malfoy's limp body over to the trunk, breathing a sigh of relief to find that he did fit.

Harry sat staring down Malfoy for a moment, feeling a deep revulsion of himself. Then, slowly, he lowered the lid.

-

"I thought I told you not to bring your trunks," Mrs. Weasley said when the three of them got downstairs. She and Mr. Weasley seemed to have just packed their clothes into bags. "We're only staying for a couple weeks."

Harry looked around at Ron and Hermione's trunks, thankful to them. Mrs. Weasley would be less likely to insist that they all go back upstairs and repack.

"You should go," Lupin told them. He was standing by the fireplace, while Tonks had already started to scout out the first floor of the house. "Only two people can be in the house for the first stage of the spell."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Thanks for doing this, Remus," she said. She reached into the flowerpot by the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo Powder into the flames. "I'll go first," she said, looking at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Then you three." Before anyone could say anything to challenge her, she stepped into the fire. "Grimmauld Place!"

Ron went after her, and Hermione discreetly nudged Harry to tell him to go next. So, he took a deep breath, gripped his trunk tightly in his hand, and stepped forward. "Grimmauld Place!"

Fireplaces rushed past Harry's eyes as he plummeted through the flames. He resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, praying that Malfoy had actually read the address. When he spotted Grimmauld Place's kitchen, he stepped out. He misjudged the landing slightly and stumbled forward, the trunk landing just a few inches from crushing his foot. He struggled to his feet, looking around to confirm that he was in the right place.

Mrs. Weasley and Ron were already there, dusting soot off their robes. Mad-Eye Moody, the only other person in the room, sat at the table reading a copy of the Daily Prophet, though his glass eye was swiveling freely in his head. "What did I tell you about that wand, Potter?" he asked in a disapproving tone.

Harry felt the color rising in his face as he reached around, pulling the wand of his back pocket and holding it awkwardly at his side. Just his luck that he should run into Moody one of the few times he was carrying his wand around.

Hermione and Mr. Weasley followed soon after, both of them landing on their feet, though Hermione's trunk did hit the floor just as unceremoniously as Harry's had.

"There's a couple free rooms on the first floor landing, a few more about halfway down the second floor, and one on the third," Moody continued, turning a page of the paper. "If a room's door is shut, someone's already claimed it."

So, the five headed upstairs, using levitation charms on their trunks. Hermione took one of the rooms on the first floor, while Harry and Ron took rooms across from each other on the second. Harry's room only had one bed, but he doubted it would matter much, since Malfoy always slept in the corner of the room back at the Weasleys'. He was more grateful to find that the room had a bathroom connected to it. Mrs. Weasley reminded them to be downstairs for dinner in a few hours, and then she and Mr. Weasley went up to claim the room on the third floor.

Ron levitated his own trunk into his room and glanced at Harry's. "Need any help?" he asked.

Harry shook his head. "I think I'd better deal with him alone."

"I'll see you later then," Ron said, looking relieved as he went to his room.

Harry directed his own trunk into his room and, taking a deep breath, he followed after it, shutting the door behind him. He strode over and knelt down, pulling the lid open.

Malfoy lay there just as Harry had left him, curled up in a position that, if he was conscious, would probably be very uncomfortable. Harry raised his wand, hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "_Rennervate._"

Malfoy let out a soft moan and started to shift around. His eyes fluttered open, then squeezed shut again as he drew his legs up to his chest.

Harry waited a moment, but he made no further movement. "Malfoy?"

Malfoy opened his eyes again, and he pushed himself up with shaky arms. The confusion on his face quickly changed to anger. He dove forward before Harry could even react, knocking him over.

Harry's head hit the ground and his vision blacked out for a split second, a metallic taste filling his mouth as his teeth bit down on his lip. Luckily, Malfoy was still weak, so when Harry regained his senses, he was able to easily push the other boy off of him.

"What's the matter with you?" Harry said furiously.

Malfoy did not reply as he struggled to sit up, only glared.

Harry wanted nothing more than to attack Malfoy, but he forced himself to turn the other way, stalking out of the room. He slammed the door and leaned against it, clenching his fists.

A moment later, Ron's door opened. "What's—What happened to your lip?"

Harry reached up a hand to wipe his mouth, looking down at the streak of blood across his fingers. "Malfoy," he said simply.

Ron glanced hurriedly toward the stairs. "Well, you can't go downstairs like that. What are we—_shit!_"

There was a sound of footsteps from upstairs and Harry looked up to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley about to start down the stairs.

"Hit me!" Ron whispered furiously.

"What?" Harry thought he might have heard wrong.

Then, before he could react, Ron dove at him, his fist connecting with Harry's stomach. The blow was not as hard as it could have been, but it still knocked the wind out of him, causing him to stumble backward. There was a sound of pounding footfalls and someone was yelling, but Harry barely noticed it. He managed to regain his bearings just in time to duck a swing at his head and reach up to catch Ron's arm before he could draw it back again. At that moment, however, a pair of arms hooked under his, prying him away from Ron. He looked up to see that Mr. Weasley had grabbed Ron and started dragging him back as well.

"What the devil is going on here?" Mrs. Weasley asked, standing in the space that had been made between the pair, her hands on her hips as she narrowed her eyes at each of them.

"I don't know!" Harry said truthfully, his shoulders aching from the unknown person holding him back. "He just attacked me!" The hands released him then, and he looked around to see Lupin looking down at him, disappointment etched in his face.

Mrs. Weasley rounded on Ron, who was also released from Mr. Weasley's grasp. "Explain yourself," she said in a dangerously low voice.

"It's your fault!" Ron yelled, pointing a finger at Harry. "Ginny left because of you! You—"

"_Ronald Bilius Weasley!_" Mrs. Weasley scolded so harshly everyone winced. "You should be ashamed of yourself! You will go to your room this instant and stay there until your father and I have discussed this."

Harry knew he should say something, but before he could think of anything, Ron turned on his heel and stalked off to his room, slamming the door.

Mrs. Weasley turned around to Harry then, her expression immediately changing to one of concern. "Oh, Harry, dear, you're bleeding." She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and gave it to Harry, who pressed it gingerly against his lip.

"What could have possessed him to do something like that?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"You shouldn't be too hard on the boy," Lupin said. "I imagine it's been a trying couple of days for you all."

"Yeah," Harry said, wishing he could think of something more constructive to say.

"Well, trust me, his days are about to become a lot more trying," Mrs. Weasley said.

"We should talk about this later," Mr. Weasley said. "When our tempers have cooled down."

That seemed to settle matters. Still, as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley started off toward the stairs, Harry could hear them arguing in low voices.

Lupin waited until the voices and footsteps faded into the distance before turning to Harry. "What really happened?"

"I don't know!" Harry said. "I woke him up and he just attacked me!"

"What do you mean you 'woke him up?'"

"Well...he wouldn't get in the trunk on his own, so I had to knock him out first," Harry said, suddenly feeling extremely stupid.

"Right." Lupin seemed to be giving this some thought.

"So, how are things going at the Burrow?" Harry asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Dora has her work cut out for her," Lupin said. "With all the floors, it might take longer than we thought."

"Oh," Harry was not sure how he felt about the prospect of staying here longer.

"Are you all right, Harry? You seem troubled."

"I'm fine," Harry glanced off toward the stairs, "but I do need to talk to you about something."

Lupin looked at him intently. "Yes?"

"Actually, _we_ need to talk to you," Harry said, hoping Lupin was not thinking what he thought. "Hermione and Ron too."

"Oh." Lupin almost seemed disappointed. "Well, I have some things to take care of before dinner. We have other guests staying here and some of them are confined to their rooms. I've been assigned the exciting job of delivering meals three times a day."

Seeing an opportunity to make his stay much easier, Harry spoke up. "Listen, do you think you could—?"

Lupin nodded. "I'm sure I can fit an extra meal on the trolley. Why don't you head downstairs? Dinner won't be starting for a while, but there will probably be someone down there to talk to."

"Aren't you coming?" Harry asked.

"I have a makeshift kitchen upstairs. Some of the delivered meals have to be prepared specially, and it's better if I don't get in everyone's way. I'll meet you three back here after dinner."

Harry headed downstairs after that, feeling distinctly unsettled. Talking to Lupin for just that short amount of time was a trial in and of itself. At least when they talked later Hermione and Ron would be there.

When Harry reached the kitchen, he found that Lupin was right. A young boy, no older than eleven, was sitting at the table already. He had shaggy, tangled brown hair and a thin face, with a deep scar running from his left eyebrow almost down to his jaw. His left hand, which was heavily bandaged, clutched a quill clumsily, scratching something onto a scroll of parchment. He looked up sharply the moment Harry walked in, gave a small smile, and rolled up the parchment. "If you're looking for the Weasleys, they're not down here yet," he said in a thick accent.

"I just came down for dinner," Harry said, taking the seat across from the boy. "I'm—"

"Harry Potter," the boy finished for him, folding his hands on the table and revealing that his right hand bore just as many bandages as the left. "I supposed as much. My name's Ivan Petrov."

"I haven't seen you at Hogwarts before."

Ivan fidgeted. "I'm from Russia. I mean...well, I was. I used to live there. I'll be starting at Hogwarts this year. Well, maybe. I don't know yet." He looked down at the table.

Harry had just opened his mouth to ask about Ivan's hands when the door swung open. A girl who seemed just a few years older than Ivan stepped into the room. She looked very similar to the boy, though slightly taller, with more scars on her face. She moved swiftly to the opposite side of the room from them, never once taking her eyes off Harry.

"Anya," Ivan said in a scolding tone, as though he was speaking to a young child. He said something in Russian, though Harry was certain that he caught Lupin's name somewhere in the midst of it. The girl turned her eyes on Ivan briefly, glaring, before focusing her attention back on Harry.

"Sorry," Ivan said finally, lowering his voice, though Harry was sure the girl could probably still hear. "This is my sister, Anya. She's...well, it's a long story, but she's not quite right, you know?"

Harry was saved from having to come up with a response by Hermione walking in the door.

"Harry, I just talked to Mrs.—oh," her eyes widened as they fell on Anya, a flicker of fear passing through them.

Harry followed Hermione's gaze and saw Anya baring her teeth, letting out a low, feral growl.

Ivan stood up instantly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry." He turned to his sister, placing a hand on her arm. "Anya, time to go back to your room."

The growling stopped, and Anya's face relaxed slightly, though she still looked at Hermione with an intense revulsion. She put up no struggle, as Ivan led her out of the room, but she did crane her neck to keep an eye on Harry and Hermione all the time.

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked once they had gone.

"Dunno," Harry said. "The boy's name is Ivan. He said his sister's not quite right."

"Hmm." Hermione nodded, glancing at the door briefly. Then, she went to sit down. "Mrs. Weasley told me what happened. I don't understand why Ron would—"

"It wasn't Ron," Harry said. He looked at the door, hoping nobody was standing on the other side, and lowered his voice. "It was Malfoy."

Hermione seemed confused, but then a look of realization dawned on her face. A moment later though, it had turned back to confusion. "But, why would he do that?"

"Well, I sort of had to...knock him out," Harry said, "to get him into the trunk."

Hermione's eyes went wide again. "What?"

"He wouldn't get in. I was running out of time."

"Well, it's no wonder he hit you. You probably scared him half to death."

"I didn't have a choice!"

"I never said that you did. I just think you should keep a level head with all of this. We've managed to keep this a secret so far through sheer luck. Luck which we don't need to be pushing." When Harry opened his mouth to argue, she raised her hand to silence him. "I know, it wasn't your fault." She sighed. "I think we should just talk about something else. Is Lupin back yet?"

Harry nodded. "He couldn't talk much, but he said he'd meet us upstairs after dinner. I still don't know how we're going to ask without telling him anything."

"Without telling who what?" a gruff voice said. Harry and Hermione jerked their heads to face the door, where Mad-Eye Moody stood.

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly.

Moody narrowed his good eye at Harry. "Secrets are deadly in times such as these. You of all people should know that, Potter."

_Because the Order has been so honest with me_. Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying this thought out loud. A flicker of anger passed through Moody's eye, however, and Harry quickly looked down to break eye contact.

The tension hung heavy as Moody limped over to the nearest chair and sat down. "What happened to your lip?" he asked. "Or is that another secret?"

"I got in a fight with Ron," Harry said, thinking it was probably best to keep the story as consistent as possible.

Moody's glass eye swiveled around to look at him. "You should always be on alert. Don't let them get in the first hit."

"Ron's not a Death Eater."

"Doesn't matter." His fake eye stared at Harry with such intensity, Harry felt as though it could see into his mind. "Constant vigilance!"

To Harry's intense relief, the door opened at that instant, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley walked in. Unfortunately, they brought with them their own air of tension, which made the room near unbearable. Mr. Weasley sat by Moody and held a whispered conversation with him, while Mrs. Weasley went to the stove and started cooking dinner, making more noise with the pots and pans than she normally would have.

Harry did not expect many people to be at dinner. After all, Moody and Lupin were the only Order members he had seen since they arrived. To his surprise, however, not long after Mr. and Mrs. Weasley arrived, a stream of about a dozen people filed into the room. Half of them seemed to be of an age to be going to school, but he was sure he had not seen any of them at Hogwarts before. There were also two boys who looked around seven years old, three people who looked to be in their twenties, and one man who could not have been less than sixty. A couple of the children seemed to resemble each other enough that they might be related, but the one thing that stood out was that several of them had either scars on their visible skin or bandages. A few moments after the old man entered the room, Dedalus Diggle rushed in, out of breath with his hat askew.

If Harry had thought that the meal itself would go by smoothly, this hope was quickly dashed. Mrs. Weasley and Diggle sat with Mr. Weasley and Moody, joining in their whispered conversation. The young boys had a rather animated conversation entirely in French, but the other people in the room were dead silent. Only some of them ate, while the others just sat staring down at their plates, as though suspecting that the food was poisoned.

Eager to get out of the kitchen as quickly as possible, Harry cleared his plate within five minutes and then caught Hermione's eye. She gave the slightest of nods, and they excused themselves. No one else paid them any attention as they hurried up the stairs.

"Who were all those people?" Harry asked once they had gotten to the landing of the second floor. Lupin had not arrived yet.

"I don't know," Hermione said, leaning against the wall. "From the looks of them, I'd say they were in an attack, but I think we would have heard about that." She looked thoughtful.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Well, my understanding of French is terrible, but I think the boys were talking about a potion."

"What potion?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't piece enough of it together, but I think I heard them mention that something's supposed to be happening a few days from now. Something big."

"What?"

"I don't know. But whatever it is, they seemed terrified of it."

"Who's terrified?" The new voice made Harry and Hermione jump about a foot. The door of Ron's room was open a crack and he was peeking out.

"It's a long story," Hermione said.

"Are Mum and Dad out there?"

"They're still downstairs," she replied. "If I'd thought about it, I would've brought you some dinner."

"No, that's all right." Ron stepped out of his room. "Lupin brought me food. Said he knew what really happened. So, what have I missed?"

Harry and Hermione gave him a quick recounting of what had happened.

"Well, I think there's a lot more people than that staying here," Ron said when they had finished. "Lupin had a full cart of trays to bring around to rooms. It's been over an hour since—"

Hermione motioned for Ron to be quiet, nodding toward the stairs, where Lupin was heading down toward them. He looked exhausted, his face pale and robes disheveled. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said. "Work here never really ends, I'm afraid. What did you need to talk about?"

"Well," Harry said, looking around, "we really need to talk somewhere more private."

Lupin nodded and moved to a nearby door. He pulled a key from his pocket to unlock it and waved them in ahead of him.

The room had the same basic set-up as all the other rooms, with a bed, wardrobe, desk, and bedside tables. The odd thing about the room was that it was completely absent of any personal effects. Harry might have thought that no one slept in here, except Moody had said that all the locked doors had already been claimed, so he decided this must be Lupin's room.

"So, what is this about?" Lupin asked, focusing his attention mainly on Harry.

"We need to find someone," Hermione spoke up. "Well, we need to find out _about_ them anyway. We thought maybe you could help us."

"Who is it?"

"Well, that's the thing," she said, "all we have are initials: R.A.B."

Lupin stumbled backwards a few steps, looking off to one side and pressing a hand to his forehead. He looked as though he had seen a ghost.

"You've heard of them?" Harry said.

"I think I know who you mean, yes," Lupin said in a low voice, "but...he's been dead for a long time. Why are you asking about him?"

"We can't really tell you," Hermione said, "not everything. Just...we have a note that he wrote, and we have reason to believe that he knew something important."

If Lupin had looked startled before, it was nothing compared to the look on his face now. He moved over to his bed and knelt down, reaching underneath it. When he straightened back up, he was holding a black box about the length of his forearm. He set it on the bedside table and started looking through it. He unloaded several things, including a leather book, a small, square mirror, an eagle feather quill, and an ink well, onto the table. Then, he started pulling out folded bits of old parchment, opening each one to inspect it briefly before setting it aside.

Finally, he found what he was looking for and handed a slightly torn piece of paper to Harry. "Is that the handwriting?" he asked.

Harry looked down.

_Remus,_

_I shouldn't be sending this, but I thought you should know, I'm leaving school tomorrow. I'm sorry, but I have to. Will you tell Sirius for me? I'd send him a letter, but I know he wouldn't open it. _

_And you don't have to worry, I promise I won't tell anyone. Goodbye._

_R.A.B._

Hermione, who had been reading over Harry's shoulder, nodded. "That's it."

"Harry?" Ron spoke up for the first time.

Harry was still staring at Sirius's name, and everything began to click into place. "Regulus A. Black," he muttered.

"What?" Hermione said.

Harry hardly heard her, looking up at Lupin. "It's Sirius's brother."

Lupin nodded.

"But he was a Death Eater," Ron said. "Why were you getting letters from him?"

"When I was a fourth year, I caught some second years trying to force a first year to eat a Dungbomb," Lupin said. "I didn't recognize the boy until after the second years ran off. Honestly, he was so scrawny, I thought he might not even be a student at first. He sent me an owl the next day thanking me, and we kept in touch until...until after his fifth year."

"Is that when he became a Death Eater?" Harry asked.

Lupin nodded. "I tried to talk him out of it, but it was no use. He made it a little over a year before he deserted. He died a few days later."

"How did he die?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not sure. I only know what I read in the Prophet. One of his house elves found him down the street from this house. Apparently he was on his way home when..." Lupin trailed off.

"Do you think he could have known something?" Hermione said. "Something they would have wanted him dead for?"

"Nothing. From what I heard, he didn't make it very far in the ranks."

Hermione paused for a moment. "Did they find anything on his body?"

"Not that I'm aware of. He was cremated, so anything that was with him would have gone to his parents. Is there something specific that you're looking for?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not yet. Thanks for your help."

"It's no trouble. You can come talk to me anytime." He glanced at Ron. "You might want to be getting back to your room though, before your parents come upstairs."

Ron muttered something unintelligible under his breath and hurried out of the room. As Harry and Hermione started for the door, Lupin spoke up again. "Harry, I'd like a word with you in private."

Harry fought to keep his face blank as his heart leapt into his chest. Hermione gave him an odd look, but shrugged. "We'll figure out what to do tomorrow," she said and walked out, leaving Harry to face Lupin.

Lupin did not say anything at first. Instead, he moved over to his bedside table and began to carefully pack everything back into the box. His movements were slow, and he seemed to be preoccupied with something.

Then, after he had closed the lid, he finally spoke. "So, aside from your split lip, I assume everything went smoothly?"

"Yeah," Harry said, though he was a bit put out that Malfoy's outburst was being dismissed so readily, "nobody's suspicious."

"Yes, well, I imagine they have enough to preoccupy their minds as it is. From what I saw, I trust that the potion is working."

"Yeah, except...well, he seems to be having problems walking."

Lupin nodded. "Just a side effect. The potion works by burning the infection out of the body. It effects mental processes and muscle coordination. I imagine he's been acting strangely, too? It will all wear off once he stops taking the potion."

Harry remembered the incident in the bathroom earlier, a bit of hope rising inside him. Maybe Malfoy's actions were just a side effect. His mind was messed up by the potion. But then Harry remembered that these problems had started long before the potion, and his mood plummeted.

"Harry?" Lupin's hand on Harry's shoulder made him jump. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Harry said, backing up out of Lupin's grasp.

Lupin just stood for a moment with his arm outstretched. Then, he drew it back. "You can talk to me about anything."

"_There's nothing to talk about!_" Harry knew that he should not be yelling at Lupin, but it was too late. Every bit of anger that he had been suppressing over the past few days came rising to the surface, and it was all he could do to keep from rushing Lupin. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Lupin just looked at him with disappointment. "Very well." He turned back to his bedside table. "I'm not your professor anymore. I'm sure I don't need to dismiss you."

Harry took the hint and started for the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob, however, still needing an outlet for his anger. "You could have told me about the potion's side effects."

"I wasn't aware that it mattered that much," Lupin said in an undertone.

Harry opened his mouth to argue further, but stopped himself just in time. It was probably best not to mention anything about what happened in the bathroom earlier.

"If you're going to say something Harry," Lupin said, "then say it. Otherwise, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I have work to do."

Harry needed no further prompt, pushing the door open and stalking out. He had made it only a few paces down the hall when the door slammed shut behind him.

Harry sighed, leaning against the wall. There was no question about it now. Lupin knew. He would not be pushing Harry so hard for information if it was just a suspicion. However, that still left the question of why Lupin seemed to be dodging the subject just as much as Harry was.

"Harry, are you all right?"

Harry looked up to find Mr. and Mrs. Weasley standing a few feet away with concern on their faces.

"I'm fine," Harry said.

"You'd best be off to bed," Mrs. Weasley said. "It's getting late."

Harry nodded and went to his door, pushing it open just far enough so he could slip inside and shut it quickly. He leaned against his door for a moment, trying to regain his bearings. He needed to pull himself together. Nobody else was suspicious yet, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He looked up to see Malfoy sitting in the far corner of the room, adjusting his shirt. He had changed his clothes, though from his heavy breathing, Harry could tell it had taken quite an effort. A half-eaten plate of food sat on the floor next to him, along with an empty potion bottle. Harry glanced over at his trunk and saw that Malfoy had indeed rifled through it for clothes, leaving the lid open.

Malfoy followed his gaze. "You didn't really expect me to wait, did you?" he asked, leaning his back against the wall and closing his eyes for a moment. He looked exhausted.

Harry went to his trunk and started to put everything back in order, checking to make sure Malfoy's wand was still in there.

"Satisfied that I haven't stolen anything?" Malfoy asked when Harry closed the lid.

Harry's hands clenched into fists. "I'm not in the mood, Malfoy."

"Oh, but if I waited for you to be in the mood, I'd never have any fun."

Harry ignored the comment and moved over to the bed, laying down with his back turned to Malfoy. He did not even consider offering the bed to Malfoy. After all, even if he did, he doubted Malfoy would sleep in it. He would just sleep in the corner, as always. And, at that moment, Harry could not care less.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. I don't know when I'll be able to post again, but I'll try not to take more than a couple of weeks. Next chapter: mutant dust, biting books, and potions, oh my! Mrs. Weasley's angry, Lupin has more secrets he's not letting on about, and Harry receives a rather nasty surprise during a card game. Stay with me, folks, things start to get a little hairy from here on out.


	11. Chapter 11: The Library

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I decided to put in the effort to get this chapter out a little quicker than usual. I've gotten myself onto FictionAlley's queue bypass, which will hopefully mean that I can start updating about once a week. At any rate, I have nothing further to say, so enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 11: The Library

Just as Harry had suspected, he woke the next morning to find that Malfoy was fast asleep in the corner. Harry felt a fleeting urge to go over and give him a swift kick in the ribs, but he pushed the thought away immediately, surprised at his own malice. He was sure that Malfoy would not hesitate to do the same in his place, but he could not let himself stoop to Malfoy's level. So, he got up instead and left the room.

"Oh, good, you're awake." Hermione, who looked as though she had been just about to knock on Ron's door, turned to Harry and lowered her voice. "I think after breakfast we should try to find somewhere private to talk."

Harry stared at her for a moment before realizing what she meant. "Right," he said.

Hermione knocked on Ron's door and waited. "Ron?" No answer. She knocked again and pushed the door open a bit, peering inside. "There's nobody in there."

Harry tapped her on the shoulder and pointed toward the staircase, where Ron has just appeared on the upstairs landing. "You...owe...me..." Ron said, pointing a bandaged hand at Harry and putting emphasis on each word as he took slow, heavy footsteps down the stairs. He had dirt smudges on his face and his clothes were disheveled and covered in filth.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked.

"Mum found a Doxy nest on the fourth floor and thought it'd be just the perfect punishment. I had to clear out the nest and change the ruined curtains out. _And_, as an added bonus, I had to help clean out a cursed cupboard."

Harry felt a stab of guilt. "I'm sorry."

Ron shook his head. "It's not your fault. You might not want to leave me alone in a room with Malfoy any time soon though."

"Speaking of," Hermione said, lowering her voice, "how is everything? I mean, did he try to start anything again?"

_Depends on what you mean by _anything, Harry thought. "No. And I talked to Lupin, he's agreed to bring meals to the room for him while we're here."

"Good thinking," she said. "We'll be able to focus a lot easier if we don't have to worry about that all the time." She glanced at the staircase. "We'd better head down before they start wondering where we are."

Breakfast passed just about as fast as dinner had the night before. The company was about the same: a few Order members, the Weasleys, and about a dozen people that Harry did not know. The boy named Ivan came down about midway through the meal, but he did not say a word to anyone, keeping his eyes firmly focused on his plate.

Harry and Ron had barely finished eating when Hermione whisked them away from the table, telling the Weasleys that they were going upstairs to check out the library on the third floor. Harry thought it was rather a bad excuse, especially for him and Ron, but Mrs. Weasley just gave them all a big smile. No doubt she was just happy that Harry and Ron seemed to be getting along now.

"Okay, you three," Mr. Weasley said, "but be careful up there. We haven't cleared the debris from that room yet, so don't touch anything."

On the way upstairs, they passed Lupin on the first floor. Harry sped up a bit, but there was no need. Lupin gave them only the slightest of nods before knocking on a door and going inside, shutting it quickly behind him. Harry saw the other two exchange bewildered looks and glanced the other way, pretending not to notice. Once they reached the third floor, Hermione led them a short way down the hall to a set of double doors with wrought iron handles. She walked over and, with some effort, managed to wrench one open.

The library was huge, stretching on for what looked like half a mile, and, just as Mr. Weasley had warned, it was a mess. Two of the ceiling-high bookcases had fallen over, smashing two of the three tables in the room into splinters. Great cobwebs hung from ceiling to floor, fluttering in spite of there being no breeze.

"Look at this place," Hermione said, a slightly dazed expression on her face as she took a couple steps inside. Her footsteps were muffled by a layer of dust about an inch thick on the floor. "There must be a thousand books in here, at least."

"I think we've lost her," Ron muttered, waving a hand in front of Hermione's face.

She batted his arm away. "Funny. Come on." And before either of the other two could object, she started forward again. Harry and Ron glanced at each other, shrugged, and followed.

They picked their way slowly across the room, their arms outstretched to ward the cobwebs away from their faces. Finally, they made it to the table, where they picked out the chairs that looked the least as though they would collapse under any weight. They sat with their hands in their laps, none of them brave enough to touch the table, which had a suspicious looking blue mold growing on it.

"I can't believe we never thought of Regulus," Hermione said immediately.

"Well, we really don't know anything about him," Ron said. "We knew he was Sirius's brother. That's about it."

"And that he was a Death Eater," Harry added.

"But this is a big step," Hermione said. "I mean, for all we know, there could be a Horcrux in this house. Maybe more than one."

Harry shuddered. The thought of a piece of Voldemort's soul being somewhere nearby made his skin crawl. "But how are we going to find them?"

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, picking out a bit of cobweb that had gotten tangled in it. "I don't know. I think we should at least try to see if we can find any books to help us in here. If nothing else, it'll keep us busy until we think of something."

"You must be joking!" Ron said, waving his hand at the bookcases. "It'd take us _months_ to go through all this! We're only here for a couple of weeks!"

"We just need to work out a system," Hermione said. "Each of us will take one bookcase at a time. Just scan the indexes. Even if we don't find anything about Horcruxes, maybe it'll give us an idea."

Harry soon found, however, that this was easier said than done. The shelf he chose was full of dusty old volumes, most of which had the titles worn off the covers. Half of the books he pulled down were written in languages he did not even recognize. A few let off a sort of humming noise whenever he reached for them, so he avoided those, as well as one that had a dark stain on the spine. The few whose indexes he did read held no clues. After the fifth book on Goblin wars, he had a sneaking suspicion he was in the history section. After over an hour of searching, he had found nothing. His face was dripping with sweat and he could feel his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back.

"You got anything?" he called to Ron, who was at the next shelf. He looked just as overworked as Harry felt.

"Not a—_ouch!_" Ron dropped the book he was holding and shook his hand furiously. "The little fucker bit me!" He gave the book a swift kick, sending it cascading across the floor.

"Quit messing around you two," Hermione called from across the room. Her face was tinged pink and beaded with sweat, and she had pulled her hair up into a messy bun on her head.

"How much longer do we have to do this?" Ron said. He scratched his head, sending a cascade of dust falling from his hair.

"You two can take a break if you want," Hermione said, waving her hand at a stack of books by her feet. "You can flip through these books. They have a couple of indexed references to soul magic."

"I don't think she knows the meaning of the word 'break,'" Ron muttered. Nevertheless, he and Harry each grabbed a couple books from the stacks and went back in their chairs.

Harry's first book referenced Horcruxes only twice The first was nothing, just an example of how soul magic was more dangerous than blood magic. The second was in a section written entirely in Latin.

As he flipped through the pages, a cloud of dust rose from the book, making his eyes water. He reached up a grubby hand to rub his eyes, instantly regretting it as they started to burn. He pulled his glasses off and used the inside of his shirt to rub the grit out of his eyes. A sharp, steady pain was starting to form in his skull, close enough to his scar that he wondered for a moment if it was burning.

"I can't take this anymore!" Ron said, throwing his book on the table. Harry closed his eyes hurriedly against the new wave of dust. "Can't we at least clean some of this up?"

"I've already tried," Hermione said. She came back over and collapsed in her chair, fanning herself with her hand. "The dust is enchanted to resist cleaning spells. If we could just—"

The door swung open at that moment and Mrs. Weasley's voice interrupted. "Lunch is about—oh my!" She stood in the doorway clutching her chest. "You three get out of there this instant!"

Harry exchanged a quick look with the other two, and they hurried out of the room, their heads bowed to avoid Mrs. Weasley's scrutinizing gaze. Once they were out, she slammed the door behind them.

"Absolutely filthy...heaven knows what's in there..." Mrs. Weasley prodded Harry with her wand. "_Scourgify!_" Nothing happened. "Oh, this is just...off with all of you! I want you all cleaned up and downstairs in half an hour!" She stalked off down the hallway, muttering to herself.

Harry glanced at Ron, who looked positively horrified at his mother's behavior. Hermione, however, was staring after Mrs. Weasley with narrowed eyes, a tinge of pink in her cheeks.

"Hermione...?" Harry said hesitantly.

"I'll see you both downstairs," she said shortly, setting off down the hall.

"What was that about?" Harry asked once she was out of earshot. Ron just shrugged.

They headed down to the second floor. After Ron had gone to his own room however, Harry hesitated in the hall for a moment, then mentally kicked himself and strode over to his door. This was ridiculous. He could not work himself into a fit every time he had to go back to the room. With this in mind, he went inside, closing the door with a bit more force than was necessary.

"Hey, Potter," Malfoy called from his corner, wrinkling his nose, "there's this new invention, you see. It's called a bath."

Harry ignored him, making a beeline for his trunk. He grabbed the first set of clothes he saw and, without a second glance at Malfoy, headed for the bathroom.

Unfortunately, a few minutes after getting into the shower, Harry learned that the dirt was not just resistant to magical means of cleaning. It took him twenty minutes of scrubbing every inch of his body to get the majority of it off. By the time he had finished, his skin was pink, and he was sore everywhere. Finally, he gave up and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to gingerly dry himself.

Harry put on his glasses and immediately whipped them off again when he realized that he could actually see better without them. He ran them under the tap for about five minutes and then put them back on. His vision was still spotty, but at least he could see now. He sighed and reached for his clothes.

It had been much longer than half an hour by the time Harry made it downstairs, but Ron and Hermione had not shown up yet. Lunch had already started when he entered, so he had to endure the stares of everyone at the table as he took the nearest chair. The attention made him intensely uncomfortable, so he kept his eyes firmly fixed on his plate as he began to eat, feeling a slight relief when he heard the clink of silverware and whispered conversations.

Ron arrived a few minutes later and received a similar reception, though the pause was not nearly as long. His face was still smudged with dirt, and he had wrapped his hand, where the book had bitten him, in a cloth. "Did Mum say anything?" he muttered to Harry once the noise had started up again. Harry just shook his head.

Hermione did not show up for another twenty minutes. When she finally did arrive, she seemed to take no notice of the other people in the room, moving swiftly to the other side of the table and sitting across from Harry and Ron. The skin on her face was inflamed, and her frizzy hair was once again pulled back out of her face.

None of them spoke for the rest of the meal. Ron seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Harry, barely lifting his eyes from his plate long enough to look at anyone. Hermione, on the other hand, went through the motions of eating with almost no expression on her face. A close observation, however, revealed jerky movements and a slight narrowing of her eyes every time Mrs. Weasley spoke to someone.

As everyone finished eating and began to leave, Mr. Weasley finally spoke up. "You three stay." Ron and Harry, who had just risen from their chairs, exchanged a look and quickly sat back down. Both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley made no move to stand, and, beyond disapproval, their expressions were unreadable.

"I told you not to touch anything in that room," Mr. Weasley said once everyone else had cleared out.

"We were just—" Harry started.

"That room hasn't been touched yet by the Order. We have no idea how many curses are lingering in there, especially in the books."

"Dad—" Ron said.

"You three have no idea how much danger you've put yourselves in," Mrs. Weasley spoke up, her voice a dangerous whisper. "Now, I want you to promise me that you won't go back in there. Not until the Order has cleared it."

"It'll take months—" Ron said.

"We can be reasonable," Mr. Weasley said, glancing at Hermione for this. "If you want a book, we can send an Order member in to check it for curses and fetch it out for you. But understand, we don't want you three going in there with no protection."

Hermione just stared back at him and, for a brief moment, Harry thought she might start shouting. Finally though, she nodded and spoke in an even tone. "I'm sorry. It was all my fault. I wanted to see the books, so I talked Ron and Harry into going in with me. I promise, it won't happen again."

Harry glanced at Ron, who seemed just as shocked as he was. It was not the first time Hermione had taken the full blame for something they had a fault in, but it was still surprising.

The Weasleys seemed satisfied by this. "You can go then," Mrs. Weasley said, standing up.

As they got up to leave, however, Mr. Weasley called them back. "If you three are heading upstairs, will you tell Lupin we'd like to have a word with him? If he's not down any of the halls, he's probably up on the third floor, second door on the left. Thanks."

The the trio reached the first floor landing, Ron finally broke the silence. "Hermione, are you all right?"

She sighed. "I'm fine. It's just...I'm tired of everyone treating us like children."

Harry nodded, knowing all too well how she felt.

"Anyway," she said, shaking her head, "I'm going to check my books again. Maybe something will come to me. You two had better go give that message to Lupin." She moved down the hall to her room and slipped inside.

Ron looked at Harry, who just shrugged. "Let's go then," he said.

They looked for Lupin in the halls, but he was nowhere to be found, so they headed for the room Mr. Weasley had told them to check. When Harry knocked on the door, a voice called from inside, "Come in."

When Harry walked in, he wondered for a brief moment if he had stepped through a portal into the dungeons of Hogwarts. The room was dark, dank, and windowless. Every inch of wall space was covered in shelves which housed potions and potion ingredients of every imaginable sort. In the very center of the room, a monstrous cauldron was set up on a metal stand, a fire blazing underneath offering the only light. The potion inside was deep purple and issuing a large amount of acrid smoke. Lupin stood on the other side of the cauldron, stirring the potion with one hand and holding a book in the other. When they entered, he looked up.

"Oh, good afternoon," he said, shutting the book and setting it aside.

"What are you making?" Ron asked, staring wide-eyed at the cauldron. Harry could not blame him. He did not think he had ever seen a cauldron that big before.

"Just working on some potions for the Order," Lupin said. He grabbed a jar of beetles off the shelf and examined its contents for a moment before dumping the entirety inside and giving the cauldron another stir. "It's not exactly my area of expertise but after...well, you know...there's really no one else to do it."

"Couldn't Slughorn make some of them?" Harry asked. He doubted Slughorn was part of the Order, but surely he would be willing to help out.

Lupin shook his head. "I'm afraid the situation is rather too...delicate for that. But it's nothing for you two to concern yourselves with. Now, what brings you up here?"

"Dad wants to talk to you down in the kitchen," Ron said.

Lupin nodded. "I've just got a couple more ingredients to add here, then I'll head down. Thanks for the message." He turned away to examine the ingredients on the back wall.

Harry wanted to stay and ask more questions, but the fumes were starting to make his mind feel muddled, so he motioned to Ron to follow him out into the hall. The moment they stepped out into fresh air, Harry took a deep breath and let out a sputtering cough.

"How can he stand it?" Ron asked hoarsely, doubled over and clutching the wall.

"I dunno," Harry said. He still felt very light-headed. "What do you think he's making?"

Ron shrugged. "Better question is why is he making so much of it?"

As they went back downstairs, they theorized about what the potion could have been. Ron thought it was probably a weapon, but Harry thought that they probably would not be preparing something potentially volatile at the Order's headquarters. Harry suggested that it might be a healing potion of some sort, but then Ron again posed the question of why they would need so much. By the time they reached Ron's door, they had not come up with anything.

"We should ask Hermione," Harry said. "Maybe she'll have an idea."

Ron nodded. "We should probably wait until later though. Is it just me, or does she seem a little moody today?"

"Probably just upset that she can't go back in the library," Harry said.

"Right," Ron said.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Harry knew he should probably just go back to his room, but the thought of spending the rest of the afternoon with Malfoy was not exactly appealing.

Ron glanced toward Harry's door, as though he had read his mind. "Listen, you can come in if you want. We could play Exploding Snap, or something.

Harry grinned, relief washing over him. "Sure."

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing various card games to pass the time. Within the hour, they had both nearly singed their eyebrows off and were in a much better mood than before.

"You must have a lot more patience than me," Ron said, tossing a card on the table and watching it catch fire. "I probably would've strangled Malfoy on day one."

"Don't think I'm not tempted to," Harry said. "He's bloody unbearable."

"How do you stand it?" Ron asked.

Harry sighed. "Honestly, I don't know." The memory of Malfoy's lips on his floated unbidden into his mind, and he pushed it away, grinding his teeth together. "I did try to strangle him once."

"Shame you didn't succeed," Ron muttered. The card in his hand burst into flame and he dropped it, shaking his already bandaged hand furiously.

Harry forced a smile, but his insides twisted into a knot. What if he had succeeded? He had stopped choking Malfoy when he realized that he was ill, but what if he had kept at it for just a few moments longer? This time, an image of Malfoy lying on the floor of the bathroom, blood pouring from his face and chest, appeared in his mind. Harry shuddered and the cards slipped from his hands, fluttering to the floor and exploding, lighting the carpet on fire.

"_Shit!_" Ron muttered, standing up and stomping on the flames to put them out. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry said. He did not even sound convincing to himself. "I just..." All at once, a searing pain lanced through his head and he clamped a hand to his scar, squeezing his eyes shut. A series of images flashed behind his eyelids, all going by too fast to make sense of them. Just as quickly, a range of emotions ran through him, nonsensical and jumbled up.

"Harry!" Someone was shaking his shoulders, shouting from far away. "_Harry!"_

Then, as though someone had flicked a switch in his mind, it all stopped. Harry opened his eyes and blinked. Slowly, Ron's face came into focus a few inches in front of his. He still had Harry by the shoulders and all of the color had gone out of his face, his eyes wide open with fear.

"Was it...?" Ron asked shakily.

Harry just nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth he might vomit.

"But...it's not...I mean, didn't Dumbledore say it's not supposed to happen anymore?"

Harry nodded again, swallowing several times in an attempt to make his stomach settle down. "He...he said that Voldemort was blocking the connection now so I can't see into his mind anymore." He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers over them hard, trying to pin down the images he'd seen, but they all evaded him. It felt as though he had just awoken from a nightmare that he could not remember.

"So?" Ron said. He had finally dropped his hands from Harry's shoulders, but made no move to sit back down. "What did you get from him?"

Harry, who had successfully managed to calm himself down for the most part, moved on to focus on the emotions. Barely aware that he was speaking, he heard himself say, "At first he was really angry about something, but then at the end he seemed...well, I don't know if happy is the right word. It was..." He furrowed his brow. "...like everything had been going wrong and finally something went right." He opened his eyes again, saw the pity on Ron's face, and immediately glanced off toward the wall. Even after all this time and knowing the reason why he could see into Voldemort's mind, it made him feel unclean.

"Maybe it was just a fluke," Ron suggested, but he did not sound like he even believed himself. When he got no response, he pressed on. "We should go tell Hermione. Maybe she can figure out why it happened."

The thought of Hermione looking at him with the same pity as Ron made Harry's already sensitive stomach give another painful clench, but he knew Ron was right. If anyone could figure this out, it was Hermione.

But that was not the only thing that made him feel sick. If this had happened just a month ago, Dumbledore would have been the person he trusted to figure it out. Knowing that he could not go to him now filled Harry with such a deep feeling of loneliness, he could barely stand it.

With some effort, Harry forced himself back to reality and braced his hands on the table. Even so, it took Ron's help to get him onto his feet, which did not seem to want to work properly. A part of his mind wondered suddenly if this was how Malfoy felt when he took the potion. A mix of exhaustion and the sheer madness of that thought made him laugh out loud. Ron's grip on his arm tightened. No doubt he was frightened that Harry was feeling Voldemort's emotions again. Harry sobered immediately and nodded at Ron to show that he was all right.

Harry's sense of balance was starting to come back, so he was able to make it out into the hall on his own. Ron kept close, however, as though afraid that Harry would fall. Harry was grateful for it, as he was not quite certain he could stay on his feet either, especially on the stairs. Luckily, they did not run into anyone on the way down to Hermione's room. Once there, they knocked on the door.

No one answered.

Ron furrowed his brow and knocked again. "Hermione?" Nothing. He glanced at Harry and shrugged.

"Try the door," Harry suggested.

Ron twisted the knob, finding it unlocked. "I'm coming in," he said loudly. He waited a moment for a reply, then pushed the door open just enough to peek in. He shut it again immediately. "She's not here. Maybe she went down to dinner already."

Harry nodded, but his insides were in knots again at the thought of being in the kitchen with that many people. They would know something was wrong with him. He was sure of it.

Ron seemed to sense his unease. "I can tell them you're sick," he said.

Harry forced a small smile. "Thanks."

Ron gave a half smile and patted him lightly on the shoulder before heading off downstairs. Harry waited until he had disappeared from sight before turning toward the rather daunting task of climbing back up to the second floor.

By the time Harry finally reached the landing, his limbs were shaking, his breathing erratic. He leaned against the wall to regain his bearings. The moment he had calmed down and looked toward his door, however, his heart leapt into his throat again. As bad as facing everyone downstairs seemed, facing Malfoy's insults was ten times worse. It was too late though. Ron would have announced his illness to everyone by now. If he showed up, it would look even more suspicious.

Harry sighed and chose a spot on the floor across from his door to sit down, leaning his back against the wall and closing his eyes. He tried again to bring up the images, but even making his mind work now was a chore. His limbs felt heavy and useless at his sides. He tried to keep himself awake, but it was like trying to pull himself out of quicksand, and he was slowly sinking.

"Harry?"

Harry opened his eyes, his scar twinging with phantom pain. Lupin was standing over him with concern on his face, a cart stacked with trays sitting a few feet away. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Harry nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. "I must have dozed off." Was his scar hurting again, or was he just recovering from the earlier episode? It was hard to tell.

"Why aren't you at dinner?"

"I wasn't feeling well, so I thought I'd turn in early."

"Uh-huh." Lupin narrowed his eyes. "And that's why you're sleeping in the hallway then?"

Harry did not say anything, focusing his attention on a spot just over Lupin's shoulder and trying to keep his expression neutral.

Finally, Lupin sighed. "It's your business, I suppose. I'd suggest getting a pillow though. Sleeping on the floor is murder on your spine." With that, he turned back to his cart and set to work bringing meals to room after room. He knocked on the door of each, opened it only far enough to slip inside before shutting it behind him. He stayed in most rooms for only a moment or two, but he lingered in some for several minutes. Not once did he look back at Harry.

Harry did not know how long he watched Lupin. As he stared at the door of a room Lupin had disappeared into at least fifteen minutes ago, Ron came bounding up the stairs two at a time and stopped in front of Harry, gasping for air.

"Hermione...got here...fast as I could..." he sputtered, his hand over his chest.

Harry leapt to his feet, regretting it instantly as his vision momentarily blacked out and he swayed, clutching the wall. "Ron, calm down. What is it?"

Ron took a deep, shuddering breath. "Hermione wasn't at dinner. Mum thinks she's just in her room sulking but—"

"Calm down," Harry said again, mostly because he was starting to get a headache. "Did it ever occur to you that she might be in the library?"

"Huh? Oh." A red tinge crept into Ron's face, and he gave an embarrassed laugh. "Well, I just made a right fool of myself, didn't I?"

Harry tried to smile, but the muscles in his face did not cooperate. "You didn't tell anyone downstairs that she was missing, did you?" he asked as they set off for the stairs. Ron was setting quite a fast pace, which he was finding difficult to keep up with.

"No," Ron said, "thankfully. I thought I should find you first, so I just bolted my food down and made up something about coming up to check on you. I feel like an idiot."

"Don't," Harry said. He stumbled a little on the stairs and grabbed the railing to hide his slip up.

Ron reached the door to the library first and wrenched it open with a loud creak. There was a gasp from inside, followed by a dull thump. Hermione stood right in the thick of the cobwebs in front of one of the bookshelves, a thick, leather bound book lying at her feet and a cloud of dust rising up around her. She just stared at them, clutching her chest and breathing heavily.

The moment Ron made to step forward, however, she shook her head furiously and held up her hands. "Stop. Wait right there." She stooped down and picked up the book, along with another stack of about five books behind her that Harry had not noticed before. She carefully moved across the room toward them, hugging the books to her chest protectively. When she reached them, Harry saw with some surprise that she did not have a speck of dirt on her.

"What—?" he started.

"The way I see it," Hermione said, depositing the stack of books on the floor and stretching. "I only promised Mrs. Weasley that I wouldn't drag you two back in here again. Besides, she can hardly punish me for it. I'm not her daughter."

Harry stared at her open mouthed, his own problems temporarily forgotten. In the last couple years, Hermione had flouted the rules almost as much as he had, but he had never known her to disobey Mrs. Weasley's wishes before.

Ron, however, was not so dumbfounded. "How could you come up here without telling us?" he asked furiously. "We had no idea where you were!"

Hermione shrugged. "I thought you would figure it out."

Harry decided to head off the argument before it started. "We need to talk to you," he said, shooting a quick warning glance at Ron to remind him of why they were there. "It's important."

Hermione looked between them, the worry clearly written on her face, and nodded. She collected her books, and they headed downstairs. None of them spoke as Ron ushered them into his room so they could talk privately.

"What happened?" Hermione asked the moment the door had closed, dropping her books on Ron's bed.

Harry exchanged one more look with Ron, took a deep breath, and began to relate what had happened, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor the whole time. He was surprised at how quickly he was able to tell the story, though he realized that he should not be. After all, it was all very vague in his mind, so much so that he was almost convinced it had not actually happened. If Ron had not been there, he might have dismissed it as just a horrible nightmare. It was only when Harry finished speaking that he realized he had sat down on the edge of Ron's bed, his entire body shaking.

Harry chanced a glance up at Hermione, and was surprised to find that there was no pity in her eyes, only a quiet contemplation. She slowly began to pace the length of the room, muttering to herself. Ron, who stood just a few feet away, groped for the desk chair and sat down. He was white as a sheet and looked as though he might faint at any moment.

Finally, Hermione stopped in her tracks. "You said there were images," she said quietly.

It was not a question, but Harry felt compelled to nod anyway. "But they went by so fast, I couldn't see any of them."

"And the emotions shifted. They weren't a constant."

"Yeah. I mean, no, they weren't constant."

"Hmm..." She paused a moment. "Then I think we can safely assume that he's not trying to manipulate you."

Harry gave a start. He had not even considered that possibility. "How—?"

"Well, if he was, he probably would've done the same thing as last time, wouldn't he? He would wait until you were asleep so he could send you a false vision."

"Then why did he do it?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure he did."

"What?" Harry asked, feeling a little irritated. He wished she would just say what she meant already.

"We can assume that he's doing Occlumency to keep you out of his mind. Maybe he slipped up and some of his mind just sort of...leaked into yours," she finished lamely.

"I dunno..." Harry said. The explanation seemed plausible enough, but it just did not sit well. He recalled the odd, uplifting feeling he'd gotten at the end of the episode and shuddered. If something was going well for Voldemort, that could not mean anything good.

"At any rate, there isn't really enough for us to go on," Hermione said. "I think we shouldn't worry unless it happens again."

The room went quiet. Harry was staring at the floor again, but he could feel them watching him, waiting for him to either argue or change the subject. Knowing that Hermione was probably right, he opted for the latter. "So," he said in a hollow voice, "did you find anything new?"

"I found a few more books that reference soul magic quite a bit." Hermione waved her hand at the stack on the bed. "I thought we could each take a couple and look over them tonight. Wait," she said hurriedly as Ron reached out to touch one of the books. "I worked up a spell to repel the dust. Give me your hands."

She performed a complicated set of wand movements over each of their hands. Harry's skin burned for a moment and then tingled for several more before going back to normal. He reached out to touch one of the books and his fingers came away clean.

"The spell will wear off the next time you wash your hands," Hermione explained. "That should give you enough time. Here." She passed them each a pair of sizable books, though she left the two biggest for herself. "Start looking. I'll go back tomorrow for more."

"What do you mean _you'll_ go back?" Ron asked.

"I mean that your mother's right. You two shouldn't be in there. You're on shaky enough grounds with your parents as it is, and Harry, if there are curses on any of these books, we can't risk you getting hurt."

"But—" Harry protested.

"No," Hermione said firmly, looking him straight in the eye, "you are not going back in there. There's too much at stake. The plain and simple truth of it is that Ron and I are expendable. You're not."

Harry looked to Ron for support, but he only nodded his agreement with Hermione. "Well," Harry said, "at least let us know when you're going in there. If something does happen, we need to be able to get help."

Hermione stood up. "Fair enough. Finish looking through these books tonight and bring them back to me first thing in the morning. I'll be going back up to get more after breakfast." She looked pointedly at Harry. "And if your scar hurts again, come tell us. I don't care if it's the middle of the night; the sooner we deal with it, the better."

Harry nodded silently, gathering up his two books. Once he and Hermione were out in the hall, she turned immediately to go down to her room. Harry took a deep breath and moved toward his door as well. At least he would have something to focus on other than Malfoy's insults tonight.

He need not have worried, however. When he entered, Malfoy was fast asleep in the corner of the room, curled up in a way that reminded Harry of a cat. Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief and sat down on his bed, cracking one of the books open.

Hermione seemed to have had better luck this time. These books each had an entire section devoted to the study of soul magic. Unfortunately, the pages were torn and worn through in places, and the ink was so faded that Harry had to squint to be able to make it out. Meanwhile, the exhaustion of the day was starting to take it's toll and his mind was drifting. He shook his head, put the first book aside, and moved on to the second, turning to the right section and forcing himself to focus on it.

_Soul magic is among the darkest and most dangerous form of spellcasting_... Why was Voldemort's Occlumency slipping up now? It had held up through all of last year.

_Most wizards never reach a level of power high enough to attempt the more advanced forms_... Was Voldemort's power starting to decrease? Maybe he was starting to lose control.

_The most basic of soul magics are the various dream distortion spells... _Harry could feel his eyelids starting to droop. He tried to concentrate, but it was no use. His head dipped forward onto his chest and, a moment later, he collapsed to one side.

Harry stared at an ancient, crumbling stone wall, unmoving. He could feel an odd sensation in his head, as though someone was prodding his brain, and a dull pain, but it was all distant and unimportant. A few shadows moved through the recesses of his mind occasionally, but he paid them no heed. All that mattered was that wall and that he keep staring...keep focusing...

When Harry woke up the next morning, it was with a slight twinge in his scar, and the odd feeling of having had a dream, but not being able to remember it.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: a rude awakening, a not-so-mysterious visitor, a window into the past, and one extremely upset house-elf.


	12. Chapter 12: Guilty Conscience

Author's Note: Many thanks to all reviewers. This chapter turned out to be incredibly long. I would have divided it into two, but I had a hard time finding a place to do so. An extra treat, I suppose. This is the chapter where I've borrowed one tiny element from Deathly Hallows. Since I know I have at least one reader who hasn't read DH yet, I'll save the crediting until my post-chapter author's note. So, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 12: Guilty Conscience

The next couple of days passed without much incident, though tension in the house was mounting. The few members of the Order who turned up for meals along with the strangers held constant whispered conversations during meals now. Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked quietly too to hide the fact that they were trying to listen in, but they did not hear anything that they did not already know. Just something about a potion and some frightful event that was supposed to happen soon.

Hermione continued to sneak up to the library whenever she had a chance, retrieving books for them to look through. They had yet to find anything, however, and she was becoming increasingly agitated. "I feel like I'm missing something obvious," she confided in Harry while they were walking down the hall. "The answer's right under our noses. I'm sure of it."

Harry thought about mentioning the twinges he kept getting in his scar in the mornings, but he could never quite think of a way to bring it up. He might have if he could remember his dreams, but all he could recall of them was that they were very mundane. He could not help but think that he was overreacting. Maybe it was just the stress of everything that was going on.

In the meantime, Malfoy seemed content to either sleep or at least pretend to sleep whenever Harry was around now, which made going back to the room decidedly easier. Harry might have thought there was something wrong with him again, but the fact that Malfoy managed to change into fresh clothes every day told him differently. In fact, on the final day that Malfoy had to take the potion, Harry returned to the room in the evening to find Malfoy lying in the corner once more, his hair damp and plastered to his head.

That particular evening was nothing special. Harry had two new books to look through. Hermione had taught Ron and him how to perform the dirt repelling spell themselves for convenience sake. Harry waved his wand over each of his hands in turn and set to work. The first book was written almost entirely in Latin, so he set it aside immediately and started on the other. This one was in better condition than any of the other books he had looked over so far, and he actually found himself intrigued by some of the information, though none of it seemed even remotely helpful for locating Horcruxes.

The sun was starting to set, but Harry continued reading, lighting the tip of his wand to illuminate the page, though the full moon outside almost made it unnecessary. He had just started to read about a theory that the way a house-elf binds himself to a family was a form of soul magic when a voice from the corner nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Potter?"

Harry lifted his wand to illuminate Malfoy, who was wide awake and sitting up now, his ear pressed against the wall. His eyes were as big as saucers and all the color had gone out of his face.

"What?" Harry asked, his heart hammering in his chest.

"I hear growling."

Harry opened his mouth to ask what that was supposed to mean, but a sudden and sustained howl made his blood run ice cold. He had not heard that sound since his third year, but there was no mistaking it. From the look on Malfoy's face, he knew what it was too.

Harry leapt out of bed and rushed for the door, his still lit wand clutched tightly in his hand. He reached the hallway just in time to hear a chorus of howls from all around him. At the same moment, Ron came stumbling out of his room, also brandishing his wand. They both looked around wildly, but could not find the source of the noise.

"Damn!" a voice grumbled from the third floor landing. Harry whirled around, his wand raised high over his head, but there was no need. It was just Moody, who was now limping down the stairs toward them, his wooden leg making a dull thumping noise on every other step. He was fully dressed and holding his own lit wand out in front of him, both of his eyes focused on them. "You two all right?"

"There's were—" Harry started to shout.

"I know." Moody replied. "Put your wands away, both of you."

"What the hell is going on?!" Ron yelled, his voice slightly shrill, though the continued howls nearly drowned him out. There were more thudding footsteps from up and downstairs, and Harry saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley appear on the upstairs landing in their dressing gowns. They did not look frightened in the least, just extremely irritated.

As Moody reached Harry and Ron, his magical eye swiveled back in his head, no doubt to watch the Weasleys as they started down the stairs. "'Don't worry them with it,' she says," he muttered under his breath. "'They don't need to know.' Load of rubbish." He raised his voice to address the Weasleys. "Seems we're a bit short on guards tonight. I imagine Diggle's already sent Miss Granger downstairs. Another guest arrived while you were sleeping. I reckon he's still down there too."

"What's going on?" Harry repeated Ron's question, looking wildly around at the Weasleys and Moody.

"Come on you two," Mrs. Weasley said. Her face was drawn and tired. "We'll explain when we get downstairs."

Harry grudgingly went along with the Weasleys, his wand still in hand. He glanced at Ron, who looked to be thinking the same thing as him. They were not dropping their guard until someone told them what was happening.

On the way downstairs, however, they passed only Dedalus Diggle. "They're down in the kitchen," he said over the continued sounds of howling. "I've got to get back on guard duty." Before any of them could say a word, he hurried off up the stairs.

The kitchen only had two occupants when they entered. Hermione was sitting in the seat closest to the door, eyeing the elderly man across the table wearily. The man had long gray hair, a beard of equal length, and glasses. He wore a shabby, gray cloak and a slightly dazed expression on his face, as though he was not quite sure why he was there. Harry stared at him for a moment before realizing that it was the barkeep from the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade.

"Sit," Mrs. Weasley said shortly, striding over to the stove and set to making tea. When she passed the old man, she crinkled her nose. As Harry sat down, he thought he knew why, as he caught the slight but distinct smell of goats. Ron sat on his other side, while Mr. Weasley bravely took a seat just a few down from the old man.

Harry exchanged a quick look with Hermione, but she just gave a slight shake of her head. She had no idea what this was about either.

No one spoke for a long while. Mrs. Weasley brought cups of tea to each of them, but they all just stared down at it, not drinking. The exception was the old man, who was twiddling his thumbs now to amuse himself, as though he was merely a spectator at some boring affair.

As time went on, Harry's agitation got the better of him. "There are werewolves here, aren't there?" he asked. Everyone looked around at him, the Weasleys with apprehension, Ron and Hermione with looks of relief that he had been the one to speak up.

"Yes," Mr. Weasley said, taking a sip of his tea and making a face. He pointed his wand at it and a fresh curl of steam rose from the surface.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Ron said, nearly knocking his cup over as he leaned forward.

"We didn't want to worry you three with it unless we had to," Mr. Weasley said. "Everything seemed to be in order. We took every precaution, but once one of them howled...well, you three heard it."

"Why are they here?" Ron asked.

But before Mr. or Mrs. Weasley could answer, Hermione spoke up. "So, all those people we've been seeing...and all the people Lupin's been bringing meals to...they're all werewolves?"

The Weasleys nodded. "Remus has been working for the past couple of years to reach out to the ones who seem most receptive to our side," Mr. Weasley said. "The Order only just set everything up for them to come stay here a week ago."

"So, that potion Lupin was making?" Hermione asked. "That was a Wolfsbane Potion, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Mr. Weasley replied.

"But Lupin told me in third year he couldn't make the potion himself," Harry said.

"That's why we've been on alert for the past couple of days. You see, if Remus had not been able to turn out a successful batch in time, we would have had about forty-odd full-fledged werewolves on our hands. As it is, we've still had to keep the more dangerous ones locked up in the drawing room on the top floor tonight."

"But what if they get out?" Ron asked.

"Then they will have to get past a team of fifteen Order members and Lupin to make it downstairs."

"There should have been a guard on every floor," Mrs. Weasley said haughtily, narrowing her eyes at her husband as though it was his fault, "and silencing spells on the doors."

"I imagine Doge and Jones just got held up at the Ministry," Mr. Weasley said. "As for the spells, you know full well that those would do no good. We need to be able to hear in case they hurt themselves, or each other."

"That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell us," Harry said, fighting to reign in his temper. Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick, worried glance, which did not help matters.

"We didn't want you treating them differently for it," Mrs. Weasley said. "Remus is working very hard to rehabilitate some of them, and he's made a lot of progress. We thought it would help if we just treat them as we would any other guests."

"Rest assured," Mr. Weasley said, "we would never put you three in danger. If the potion had gone wrong, we would have left the house immediately."

Harry wanted to argue, but his head was starting to ache and feel oddly muddled. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. Slowly, he began to feel better and he opened his eyes again, putting it down to just being tired. Ron continued to gape at his parents, but Hermione had turned her attention to Harry, worry clearly written on her face. He gave her the slightest of of nods to let her know that he was fine. Meanwhile, the old man across the table had stopped twiddling his thumbs and was giving Harry a curious look.

Mr. Weasley, as though desperate to change the subject, turned his attention to the old man. "It's been a while, Aberforth. I didn't know you were staying here."

The man gave a haughty sniff and reached into his robes, withdrawing a flask from which he took a deep drink. A strong smell of alcohol filled the room. "Just for the night. Got things to do in the morning. Top secret, you know?" He seemed very proud of this fact.

"Hang on," Harry said suddenly as the name registered in his mind. "You...you're Aberforth Dumbledore, aren't you?"

Hermione and Ron's eyes widened as Dumbledore's brother gave a smile, revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth. "Albus always said you had a sharp mind," he said.

"Is there a particular reason why you're here?" Mrs. Weasley asked impatiently.

"It just so happens I have a package for Mr. Potter," Aberforth said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, badly wrapped bundle. With a flick of his wrist, he sent it skidding across the table toward Harry. "From Minerva McGonagall. She says to make sure you're in a large room before trying to unshrink it."

"Uh...thanks," Harry said, staring down at the package apprehensively. It was about the size of one of his school books, but knowing that there was a shrinking spell on it, it could have been anything.

"I've been meaning to ask," Aberforth said, now turning his attention to Mr. Weasley, "how's the search for Snape and the Malfoy boy coming along?"

Harry simultaneously felt a strong surge of contempt and panic at the mention of Snape and Malfoy's names. He struggled to keep a straight face, and as he snuck a quick glance at the other two, he was glad to see they were managing to do the same.

"Not well," Mr. Weasley said. "There are all sorts of rumors floating around, but not a one has led to anything."

Aberforth shook his head. "Damn shame," he muttered. "Well, if you all don't mind, I think I'll go up and have a word with Moody." Without waiting for anyone to reply, he stood up and staggered out of the room with the air of one who was very drunk.

"_That's_ Dumbledore's brother?" Ron said incredulously the moment the door had shut.

"Unfortunately," Mrs. Weasley said, eyeing the package in front of Harry suspiciously. "I'd be careful opening that. There's no telling what it might be."

"Now, Molly," Mr. Weasley said, "Aberforth said that it was from Minerva. I'm sure it's fine."

"I don't trust that man," Mrs. Weasley said. "You know what sort of crowd he lurks about with." She looked between Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "I don't want you three talking to him anymore, do you hear me?"

"Now, Molly, don't you think...?" Mr. Weasley quailed under Mrs. Weasley's death glare. "Um, right. Well, I imagine the guards have things quieted down by now. We should...uh...head back up."

Indeed, by the time they got upstairs, the howling had stopped, though Harry was sure he still heard low growls from a couple of rooms. Hermione said good night to them on the first floor and went back to her room, but Harry and Ron lingered in the second floor hall after Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gone up to their own room.

"What do you reckon it is?" Ron asked, staring at the package in Harry's hands.

Harry shrugged. "I think I'll leave it till morning. Do you mind keeping it for the night? I don't fancy the thought of Malfoy getting a hold of it, whatever it is."

Ron nodded and gingerly took the parcel, holding it at arms length as though it was a bomb. "See you in the morning then."

"Yeah."

When Harry got back to the room, he expected to find Malfoy fast asleep in the corner. So, he was surprised to find the room empty. Slightly panicked, Harry looked around and noticed that the door to the bathroom was ajar. He drew his wand as a precaution, crossed the room, and gently nudged the door open.

Malfoy was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest in the far corner of the room, across from the toilet. When Harry entered, his head shot up to look at him, his eyes wide open in terror for an instant. Then, as he moved his focus to Harry's wand, the fear turned to wariness.

"Apparently we have a werewolf staying next door," Harry said, lowering his wand. He did not see any point in lying to Malfoy, though he decided it might be best to leave off telling him just how many werewolves there were in the house. He felt a stab of pity for Malfoy, but past experience told him that he should just leaving well enough alone. So, he turned around and went back out into the bedroom without another word.

Harry eyed the book that still lay open on his bed for a moment, but he closed it and set it aside. He was too tired to worry about the Horcruxes right now. His brain was starting to get that odd, muddled feeling again, but he did not fight it this time. He just had time to lay down before darkness enveloped him.

By the time he woke the next morning, Malfoy had returned to his corner. Far from being asleep, however, he was sitting bolt upright, staring straight ahead. In the morning light, Harry could clearly see the dark shadows under his eyes. He did not seem to notice that Harry was looking at him.

Harry pulled himself up into a sitting position and hunched over, rubbing his scar, which was itching slightly. He felt terrible. He had been getting plenty of sleep the last few nights, yet it was as though he had not slept at all. Still, he was almost certain that it was just nerves. That burst of pain in his scar a few days ago had just rattled him and was making him feel things that were not there.

-

"Harry, are you all right?"

Harry looked up from his breakfast, which he had barely taken two bites of. None of the werewolves had come down to the kitchen, so it was just the trio, the Weasleys, and a couple of Order members at the table. Hermione was giving Harry a look of concern. Ron had glanced over at him as well, his fork hovering a few inches from his mouth, momentarily forgotten.

Harry nodded, taking a bite of toast to prove it, even though his stomach was rolling. He knew that if this continued much longer, he was going to have to tell them. With Mrs. Weasley now glancing down the table to make sure he was all right, however, he was forced to just settle for rubbing his scar to make it stop twitching and continuing to force down his breakfast.

As they were heading back upstairs later, Hermione and Ron cornered Harry on the second floor landing. "Your scar's been hurting again, hasn't it?" Hermione said.

"No," Harry said immediately. "Well...sort of. I don't know."

"You don't know?" Ron asked. "How can you not know?"

"Well, it's not...hurting, exactly," Harry said. "It just sort of...twinges a little."

"How many times has this happened?" Hermione asked.

"It starts when I wake up, but it's usually gone by the end of breakfast."

"What?" Hermione said, blinking. "This has been happening every morning and you didn't tell us?"

Harry shrugged, suddenly feeling exceedingly stupid. "I figured I was just imagining it."

"Um," Ron said, glancing down the hall, where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were coming up the stairs, "we should probably talk about this somewhere else."

Harry had hoped they might change the subject when they reached Ron's room, but the moment the door opened, Hermione rounded on him again. "Have you been having dreams again?"

"Of course not," Harry said indignantly. "I would've told you if I was."

But Hermione was still staring at him critically, and even Ron looked as though he did not quite believe it.

"Fine, don't believe me," Harry growled under his breath. "I'll just leave then." He started for the door.

"Wait." Hermione caught his arm, wincing what he turned to glare at her. "We do believe you, but...I think you should try learning Occlumency again."

"And how, exactly, would you suggest I do that?" Harry asked.

"Well," Hermione said, hesitating, "not really learning, I suppose, but I think you should try practicing it again. You know, clearing your mind, like..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

"...like Snape taught me?" Harry said in a low voice, his eyes narrowing. Hermione stumbled back a couple of steps. Ron had also retreated a bit, his eyes flitting between the two of them.

After a long, tense moment of silence, Hermione finally spoke again in a small, wavering voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't think...well, of course..."

But Harry's anger was short-lived, and he found himself too exhausted to keep up the argument. "Forget it," he mumbled.

But this was easier said than done. Ron and Hermione seemed almost too scared to say anything, which did cause another brief surge of annoyance in Harry. He forced himself to look away from them, and his eyes fell on the still unopened package that Aberforth had given him, which was sitting on Ron's bedside table. Glad for something else to focus on, he picked it up and slowly started to tear the paper off.

As he removed the last bit of paper, he felt an almost fluid fabric brush against his hand and all thought of his scar flew from his mind. He stared down at his Invisibility Cloak, which was only semi-visible around the edges and seemed to be wrapped around some sort of box. He carefully pulled the cloak away and found that the box was actually a black cabinet, shrunk down so that it fit in his hands. He found a bit of parchment taped to the back and peeled it loose, unfolding it.

_Harry Potter,_

_In going over Professor Dumbledore's will, I found that he has left a few items to you. Be careful when you unshrink the cabinet, as its contents are extremely fragile. Have a safe and happy summer._

_Minerva McGonagall_

Hermione seemed to have decided that Harry was in a better mood now, as she had moved to stand by the bed, reaching out to touch the cloak. "She must've found it on the Tower," she said.

Ron, however, seemed to be of the same mind as Harry, focusing more on the cabinet. "What do you reckon's in there?'

Harry shrugged, though he did have a suspicion. He had seen a cabinet just like this one back at Hogwarts, in Dumbledore's office.

"Hmm...that's odd," Hermione said. She was not looking at the cabinet, but at the letter still clutched in Harry's hand.

"What?" Harry asked.

"She doesn't mention the cloak in the letter. I would think that she would. I mean, she's usually very thorough."

"Maybe it just slipped her mind," Ron said dismissively. "C'mon, let's unshrink it."

Harry was inclined to agree with Ron, so stood up, setting the cabinet on the floor, and, ignoring the exasperated look from Hermione, waved his wand at it. The floorboards groaned as the cabinet swelled up to about waist-height. Before Hermione could object, Harry strode over and opened it.

The cabinet was divided into two shelves. Dumbledore's Pensieve sat on the top one, casting a soft, silvery glow over Harry's face. A simple wooden box took up most of the other shelf, leaving just enough room for Harry to slip his hands in on either side of the it. It stuck slightly to the bottom of the cabinet, but with some effort, he managed to dislodge it. He brushed his hand lightly over the lid to clear off a layer of dust. The letters M.L.M. had been etched deeply in the wood.

"Uh...Harry?"

Harry, who had been about to open the box, looked up to see what Ron wanted. Ron was pointing toward the bottom shelf, where another box, identical to the one in Harry's hands, had appeared.

Harry reluctantly put the first box aside and pulled out the new one, but kept his eye on the shelf. It stayed bare for a moment, but then, as though a hidden compartment had opened up in the back of the cabinet, another one slide in to take its place.

"This one's different," Hermione said, reaching over to wipe a bit of dust off the second one. "Look, this one says, 'F.I.F.'"

"What do you think it stands for?" Ron asked.

"No idea," Harry said. He felt along the side of the box to find the edges of the lid and slowly pried it open, coughing as a cloud of dust rose into the air.

He had a brief glimpse of something shiny before his vision went blurry and a throb of pain started in his head. He heard a groan from his left and blinked over at Ron, who was rubbing his eyes.

Hermione, however, seemed to be focusing on a spot just beyond the box, and her mouth hung open. "Oh my," she whispered.

Remembering what Hermione had said about expansion spells, Harry looked down again, trying to relax his eyes. Finally, the inside of the box came into focus and his own jaw dropped. The dimensions of the inside of the box were massive, and the entire thing was packed with at least a few hundred tiny vials, each labeled with the date and with one or more sets of letters, though F.I.F. was on all of them. Harry reached inside and retrieved one dated sometime in April of the previous year. Tiny, silver strands of memory coiled around the inside of the vial.

"Wow," Ron said. He seemed to have figured out how to see the inside of the box, as he was peering down at it now. He reached inside and pulled out another vial. "This one's from forty years ago. Do you think these are all Dumbledore's?"

Harry shrugged, but his attention was back on the third box that still sat on the bottom shelf. If he pulled it out, would another take its place? Just how many of these boxes were there? Harry was just about to reach for the box when Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Wait," she said, staring at the top shelf, "there's something back there." She reached her arm deep into the cabinet and retrieved a large, rather battered-looking roll of parchment that seemed to have been lodged behind the Pensieve. She unrolled a couple inches of it and her eyes widened.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Hermione turned to a clear patch of Ron's floor and unfurled the parchment with a flourish. It stretched all the way to the door, the edges curling up slightly. It had been divided into five columns, and nearly every inch was covered in Dumbledore's small handwriting.

"They're names," Hermione said, kneeling down and squinting. Sure enough, what lay in front of them seemed to be an expansive list of names, stretching all the way from Adam Jacob Abane in the top left corner to Zachary Lee Zyphor in the bottom right.

"We're on here," Ron said, moving around the side of the parchment and pointing out their names. "There's like three feet of Weasleys on here."

"But look," Hermione said, pointing somewhere in the middle of the page. "Minerva Leandra McGonagall. M.L.M., that's the first box." She got to her feet, jumped lightly over to the other side of the list, and crouched down. After a moment, she pointed again. "And Filius Isaiah Flitwick is the second."

"McGonagall and Flitwick?" Harry said. "What does that mean?"

"Well," Hermione said, "my guess is that the initials on the box tell us who the memories are about." She selected a vial from Flitwick's box. "And the initials on the label are all of the people who are in that memory. They must be cross-referenced somehow."

"But there must be thousands of names on this list," Harry said. "We can't go through every single box."

"Hmm..." Hermione scratched the back of her head absently for a moment, staring at the list. "I wonder..." She stood up and moved back to the cabinet, kneeling in front of it. "Harry James Potter," she said in a loud, clear voice.

The box inside the cabinet shuddered, then retreated back into the cabinet, and disappeared. A moment later, another one sprang forward to take its spot. Hermione reached in to retrieve it, wiping her sleeve over the top of it. The initials H.J.P. were carved into the lid.

"Thought so," Hermione said. "There's a basic voice identification spell on it. You just have to say the name of the person you're looking for." She looked up at the box that had now appeared where the one in her hands had been only seconds before. "I imagine there's some sort of algorithm for which one comes up next."

Harry was hardly paying attention, staring instead at the box in front of Hermione, a million questions in his mind. How many memories were inside of it? Were they all Dumbledore's? If so, which ones were they?

"Hey," Ron said, disrupting Harry's thoughts. He had wandered toward the top of the list. "Regulus Black is on here."

Harry and Hermione got up and moved around to where he was standing. There were actually two Regulus Blacks on the list, but only one of them had a middle name beginning with the letter A. Harry found himself looking at the two names underneath, however, which were both Sirius Black. He wondered which one was his godfather. He searched his memory, but he did not think Sirius had ever told him is middle name.

Hermione had gone back to the cabinet now. "Regulus Arcturus Black." A moment later, she straightened up with a box in her hand, prying it open. "There's only two vials in here. The first one's from 1975. He would've still been in school then, but..." Hermine held up another one, her face paling. "...this is from 1979. The year he died."

"How did you figure that out so fast?" Ron asked incredulously.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. "It's just basic math." She turned her attention to Harry. "What do you think?"

Harry, who had spaced out again, looked up, forcing his brain to quickly run through what she had just said. "What do we have to lose?" he said finally.

So, Hermione reached into the cabinet, carefully lifting the Pensieve off the shelf. She carried it over to the table, taking slow, even footsteps, and lowered it with such care that the contents barely rippled.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Harry asked as Hermione uncorked the vial.

"I think so," Hermione said, dumping the memory strands into the Pensieve and carefully prodded the surface of the contents with her wand until they started swirling. "I read up on Pensieves for one of the Charms assignments last year. I just hope I remember it right."

As they stared, the memories turned into a window, looking down upon a room that Harry recognized as Dumbledore's office.

"Are you sure about this?" Hermione asked.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Harry said, laughing a bit. He did not give her a chance to reply, however, taking a deep breath and plunging his face into the Pensieve. He felt the familiar sensation of being pulled in and falling through the darkness until he landed on his feet in the middle of Dumbledore's office.

Harry looked around at the room, which looked exactly as it had the last time he had been inside, and his heart leapt into his throat. "Professor Dumbledore," he gasped, though he knew there would be no response. The headmaster sat in the great chair behind his desk, peering down at a stack of parchment in front of him, his brow furrowed.

"Harry."

Harry jumped and glanced back to see Hermione standing behind him. A moment later, Ron materialized next to her, looking slightly frightened. "What now?" he asked.

"We just watch," Harry said, moving to stand in the corner of the room. Even though he knew Dumbledore could not see him, it seemed awkward to just stand in the middle of the floor.

As though on cue, the door opened and Professor McGonagall stuck her head into the room. Hermione gave a small gasp and whipped around to face her, but McGonagall did not even bat an eye. "Sorry to disturb you, Albus, but there's a young man out here who wants to see you."

Dumbledore looked up. "Yes, I've been expecting him. Send him up, Minerva."

Professor McGonagall nodded and retreated, closing the door softly. A few minutes passed before the it opened again, a nervous looking man with shoulder-length black hair peeking in. "P...professor?"

"Yes, Mr. Black, come on in."

Regulus Black stepped into the room. He had a tall, gangly build like Ron, but he was stooped slightly, as though the weight of his head was too much for his narrow shoulders. His face was drawn, sallow, and drenched in sweat, as though he was fighting some terrible illness.

Regulus started to close the door but looked back suddenly, staring down at something Harry could not see. "No, K...Kreacher. W...wait out here."

_Kreacher?_ Hermione mouthed at Harry, who shrugged, just as perplexed as she was.

"May I offer you something to drink?" Dumbledore asked.

"N..no thanks," Regulus said, collapsing into a chair without waiting for an invitation. He looked as though he was about to be sick. "You g...got my letter then?"

Dumbledore, who had conjured a teapot and was pouring a cup for himself, inclined his head. "The owl arrived just an hour ago. I'm afraid I missed the part explaining why you wanted to meet with me."

"Well, I..." Regulus gave a sudden start and looked around wildly, as though some invisible person had tapped him on the shoulder. "Is th...there any ch..chance of anyone overh...hearing us?"

Dumbledore reached into his robes for his wand, and Regulus instantly shrank back in his chair. But Dumbledore merely pointed his wand at the door, sending a pulse of white light at it, and nodded. "No one can hear us."

Regulus glanced around the room again, and leaned forward in his chair. "I want protection." His voice had changed, no longer shaky and timid, though he still looked ill.

Dumbledore paused with his cup halfway to his lips, peering at Regulus thoughtfully. "You'll have to be more specific, Mr. Black. I'm afraid I don't understand."

Regulus seized his sleeve and pulled it up to his elbow, uncovering the Dark Mark burning black against his pale skin. "I'm leaving the Dark Lord's service. If he doesn't know by now, he will soon. He'll be sending his Death Eaters after me. Please, I need your help."

Dumbledore continued to stare at Regulus for a moment, then set his cup down. "You may stay in the castle if you wish. I assure you, you will be safe here."

Regulus shook his head. "Please, Professor, I can't. I have to...I mean, I have things to do." His hand drifted to his pocket, as though unconsciously. Harry moved a couple of steps, tilting his head, trying to catch a glimpse of what was in it, but he could not see anything.

"Again, Mr. Black, you are being vague," Dumbledore said. "If you can tell me what it is you need to do, I can send a guard with you. Perhaps even send someone in your place."

Regulus looked frightened again. "I...I can't," he said, looking down at his hands, which were starting to shake. "I'm sorry, sir."

"I'm sorry too," Dumbledore said, "but I'm afraid I can't help you."

Regulus nodded sullenly and, bracing a hand on the arms of his chair, pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled on his way to the door, nearly falling over, but managed to keep his footing.

"Is Master Regulus all right?" Kreacher's eager voice said, and Harry had a brief glimpse of the ancient house-elf, who was bouncing from foot to foot. "Kreacher thinks he should..." The door slammed shut, cutting off the rest.

"Should we go?" Hermione asked. Harry glanced reluctantly at Dumbledore, who had turned his attention back to his mountain of paperwork, but he finally nodded. Hermione grabbed his and Ron's arms, and he felt himself being yanked backwards. The scene around him disappeared, replaced by Ron's room again as the three fell into a heap on the floor.

"Looks like I need some practice," Hermione said, wincing as she attempted to pull her legs out from under Ron. "Harry, could you get off my hair?"

"How did you do that?" Ron asked as he got up and offered Hermione a hand.

"It's essentially the same as Apparition," she said. "Except instead of turning, you just jump backwards."

"Well, that was a waste of time," Harry said.

"We know that Regulus was trying to switch sides," Hermione said. "I'll just bet you that thing in his pocket was the locket. If only he'd given it to Dumbledore."

"Why did he bring Kreacher with him?" Ron asked.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know, maybe he just...hang on. Didn't Lupin say that it was a house-elf who found Regulus?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Why?"

"Because if it was Kreacher, maybe he didn't actually find him. Maybe he was with him when he died. Which means..."

"...that he might know where the locket is," Harry finished, though he did not share her excitement. In fact, the thought of bringing Kreacher into this made him start to feel sick again.

"We can contact Professor McGonagall after lunch," Hermione said, using her wand to scoop the memory back into the vial and carrying the Pensieve back to the cabinet.

Ron stepped over to help Harry roll up the list of names. "What're we going to do with this thing?" he asked, waving his hand at the cabinet.

Hermione had finished loading the boxes back into the cabinet by now and stepped aside so Harry could put the roll of parchment in. She closed the door and tapped the top of the cabinet, shrinking it back down to the size of a book.

"Do you mind keeping it in here?" Harry said. "I'd rather Malfoy not find out about it. The cloak too."

"Sure," Ron said. He stowed the items under his bed.

Lunch passed as breakfast had: with very few people at the table and almost no conversation. Afterwards, the three of them lingered in the kitchen on the pretense of clearing the table. Once they were alone, they quickly stacked the dishes up in the sink and hurried over to the fireplace.

"We'll keep watch," Hermione said. "Don't bother questioning him yet, just have him come here."

Harry nodded and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. He knelt down on the floor, threw the powder in, and plunged his head into the flames. "Hogwarts!" he said. His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch as his head spun through the flames, the rest of his body remaining stationary in the kitchen.

When his head finally came to a stop, he found himself looking out into Dumbledore's office again. This time, however, the figure bent over a stack of paperwork on the desk was not Dumbledore, but Professor McGonagall. She seemed to have aged considerable in the time since Harry last saw her and looked as though she had not slept in a week.

"Professor?"

McGonagall gave a start, upsetting an inkwell. Harry had never seen her so jumpy before. "Oh, Mr. Potter. I wasn't expecting you." She waved her wand to clean up the ink spill.

"Yeah," Harry said, "listen, thanks for sending the cabinet."

"You are quite welcome," she said, setting aside her parchment and quill. "Though I would venture a guess that that's not why you're here.

Harry felt his face grow hot, though that might have just been from the flames framing his head. "Well, I do need a favor." McGonagall nodded as though she had been expecting as much, so he pressed on. "Can I borrow Kreacher for a while?"

This did seem to surprise her. "That's an odd request, Mr. Potter. May I ask why?"

"I...can't tell you," Harry said. Even though he knew that he would probably be safe in telling her about the Horcruxes, he had promised Dumbledore he would keep them a secret. "Please, Professor. It shouldn't take too long."

McGonagall sighed. "Well, I am certainly not in a position to stop you Mr. Potter, seeing as he is your house-elf." She waved her wand and, with a loud bang, Kreacher appeared in the middle of the room, carrying a stack of dirty dishes as tall as he was and looking confused.

"You won't be needing those," McGonagall said. She pointed her wand at the dishes, which vanished. "He's all yours, Mr. Potter."

"Thanks," Harry said half-heartedly. He turned to the house-elf, who seemed to be steadfast in ignoring him. "Kreacher, I need you to go to Grimmauld Place."

Kreacher mumbled something unintelligible and, with another crack, disappeared.

"If that is all, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, retrieving her quill, "I have work I need to finish here."

"Thanks again," Harry said. He took a deep breath and pulled his head back. The office disappeared from his vision, and his head spun again for a moment before he found himself back on his hands and knees in the kitchen.

"Well?" Ron said as Harry staggered to his feet, rubbing soot from his eyes. "How did it go?"

"What do you...?" Harry trailed off as he looked around the room. "Where is he? I told him to come back here."

"What exactly did you say to him?" Hermione asked.

"I told him to go to Grimmauld Place."

"Well, then he has to be here somewhere," she insisted. "Just try calling for him."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her, but decided to give it a shot. "Kreacher, come here!" he said loudly, feeling ridiculous.

Kreacher appeared a few feet from Harry, a look of pure loathing in his eyes. "Kreacher won't do it," he said, stomping his foot like a petulant child. "Kreacher won't do Master's dirty work anymore. Kreacher will iron his hands. Kreacher will throw himself down the stairs."

"Hello, Kreacher," Hermione said, smiling

Kreacher turned his attention on her and started muttering under his breath. "The Mudblood dares to speak to Kreacher. She is not Kreacher's master. And she brings one of the blood traitors, even more vile than she."

"Ron, don't," Hermione said, catching Ron's arm as he was about to reach for his wand. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

"The hell he doesn't!" Ron said.

Harry rubbed his temples to ward off a brewing headache. "Ron, would you just go keep watch to make sure no one comes down here?"

Ron looked as though that was the last thing he wanted to do, but he headed upstairs without another word.

"Oh, my poor mistress," Kreacher continued as though none of them had spoken at all, looking up at the ceiling. "She will have orders for Kreacher. Kreacher must go to her." He scampered off toward the stairs too.

"Kreacher, stop!" Harry said. "Get back here!"

Kreacher froze, one foot on the bottom step. He turned and slowly walked back, dragging his feet the whole way. "Kreacher will do as Master wishes." He lowered his voice again. "Not for long, Kreacher knows. The Dark Lord will find Master again, and Kreacher can go back to his true masters."

Harry seethed, but he also suppressed a laugh at the thought of what Kreacher would say if he knew that Draco Malfoy was staying in Grimmauld Place at this very moment. "We need to ask you some questions about Sirius's brother, Regulus."

Kreacher gave Harry a devilish smile. "Master Regulus was Mistress's favorite," he said. Then, his face fell as he looked up at the ceiling again. "My poor Mistress. Kreacher tried."

"Tried what?" Hermione asked.

"Answer her question," Harry said quickly before Kreacher could have a chance to insult her.

"Kreacher was supposed to watch Master Regulus," Kreacher said through gritted teeth. "Kreacher was supposed to report back to Mistress. But Master Regulus forbade Kreacher from coming back." Without warning, Kreacher dashed off to one side, throwing himself against the wall repeatedly. "Kreacher is a bad house-elf! Bad!"

"Kreacher, stop," Harry said. Though he was sure that he would regret it, he decided that getting answers was more important right now. "I forbid you from hurting yourself."

If looks could kill, Harry would have been ripped to shreds. "Master is cruel and vile."

"What did Regulus not want his mother to know?"

Kreacher's eyes turned fearful, and he raised his hands to cover his face. "Kreacher can't tell," he said, slowly shaking his head back and forth. "Kreacher can't tell. Kreacher can't tell. Kreacher can't—"

"Regulus isn't your master anymore," Harry said. "Whatever orders he gave don't apply anymore. Now tell me. What did Regulus not want his mother to know?"

Kreacher, who had dropped to his knees now, looked up again. "Master Regulus found out the Dark Lord's secret."

"The Horcruxes," Harry said. When Kreacher inclined his head ever so slightly, he pressed on. "So, did he get the locket before or after he went to see Dumbledore?"

"Before," Kreacher growled.

"Did he find any other Horcruxes?"

"Kreacher doesn't know."

"Did he manage to destroy the locket before the Death Eaters' killed him?"

To Harry's surprise, Kreacher buried his face in his hands again and let out a great wail, tears streaming from between his fingers. "Kreacher is sorry, Mistress!" he cried. "Kreacher only did as Master Regulus ordered!"

"What did Regulus order you to do?"

But Kreacher was incomprehensible now, his screams echoing throughout the kitchen. Harry was just about to tell him to shut up when Hermione grabbed his arm. "Don't," she said. "Just tell him to answer my questions."

Harry gave her an odd look, but finally turned back to the house-elf. "Kreacher," he said, "I order you to answer Hermione's questions. Truthfully."

Hermione gave Harry a brief smile and moved forward, kneeling in front of the still sobbing house-elf. "Kreacher, were you with Regulus when he found the locket?"

Kreacher nodded, sniffing loudly. He did not look at Hermione or give any sign of noticing that she was the one asking the questions.

"And when he died a few days later?"

Another nod.

"Hermione, what...?" Harry trailed off as she held up a hand to silence him.

"So, you were in the cave with him," she said. "Did you cross the lake?"

Nod.

"Did Regulus have to drink a potion from a basin to get the locket out?"

Kreacher nodded so rapidly his head was a blur.

"Did the potion kill him?"

Harry's hands flew up to cover his ears as Kreacher let out his loudest shriek yet. There was a dull thump from upstairs and Ron came running back down, brandishing his wand. He took one look at Kreacher and gave Harry a quizzical look, but it was no use trying to explain everything with all the noise. By the time Kreacher went back to his quiet sobbing, Harry, Ron, and even Hermione had retreated several paces, and none of them spoke for a long time.

Once Harry regained the ability to think, however, the memory of Dumbledore lying on the ground, pleading for Harry not to make him drink any more of the potion filled his mind, and suddenly Kreacher's behavior started to make sense. "Regulus ordered you to make him drink the potion," he said, hardly aware that he had spoken.

Kreacher nodded again.

Harry felt a lump rising in his throat and he turned, walking numbly toward the door. The others seemed dumbfounded, because he was halfway up the stairs before Hermione called after him. "Harry, wait!" When he heard her voice, he broke into a run, ignoring the screams that erupted from Mrs. Black's portrait as he hurried across the Entrance Hall and up to the first floor.

"Harry? What...?" Lupin moved aside just in time as Harry ran past.

Harry reached the second floor hall which was, mercifully, empty, and stopped for a moment, taking a quick stock of his options. Going back to his room was right out. Now more than ever, he knew that he would not be able to stand Malfoy's company. He could always choose a room at random, but he had no idea which rooms were occupied, so that would be a gamble. Finally, inspiration struck him and he took off again up another flight of stairs. After checking to make sure no one was around, he found the room he was looking for, wrenched open the door, and ducked inside.

The library was just as dark and dreary as the last time he had been there. If possible, the layer of dust coating everything seemed thicker. Nevertheless, Harry stalked across the room, ignoring the cobwebs that grabbed at his face and clothes. He kept going until he reached the corner furthest from the door, hidden by a rather large bookcase that had toppled over, and sat down. A huge cloud of dust engulfed him, making him double over coughing. This, coupled with a shortness of breath caused by running all the way up here, made his head ache and his vision swim for several minutes until he finally managed to get a hold of himself.

It all made sense now: Regulus's appearance in Dumbledore's office, his death, Kreacher's behavior, all of it. The potion that protected the locket must have been some sort of slow acting poison. Which meant that if Dumbledore had not died that night on the Astronomy Tower, there was a very real possibility that he would have died a few days later anyway.

And it would have been Harry's fault.

But Dumbledore had told him to do it. He had told him that no matter what he said, Harry was to keep making him drink the potion. Besides, if Dumbledore had survived, there might have been an antidote.

A new image floated into Harry's mind of Dumbledore kneeling on the roof, Snape advancing toward him. Dumbledore had lost his wand by that time, but Harry had no doubt that he would have been more than capable of escaping that situation under normal circumstances. The potion that Harry had forced on Dumbledore had weakened him just enough for Snape to make his move. No matter how much Harry tried to convince himself that it was not his fault, he could not alleviate his guilt.

Harry's eyes burned and he reached up a hand to rub them, smearing even more dirt onto his face. He drew his knees up to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the thoughts out of his mind.

"Harry? Are you in here?" Harry was not quite sure how long he had sat there when Hermione's voice called to him. He had no way of knowing how close she was, only the security that since he could not see her through the mess of cobwebs and debris, she most certainly could not see him. Even if she could, he doubted she would be able to distinguish his filthy robes and dirt-smudged face from the surroundings. Nevertheless, he pressed himself against the wall and held his breath until he heard the door creak shut again.

Harry knew he could not hide forever. He had tried to hide from his problems a year and a half ago, when he thought that Voldemort was possessing him. In fact, now that he had run away from Ron and Hermione, he had no doubt that they would confront him about it, and he would be forced to reveal the thoughts that plagued him. But at least this way he had time. Time to make an attempt at working through the wave of emotions that threatened to overcome him.

Hours passed, however, and Harry was no more ready to face the world than he had been before. The dust that he had kicked up into the air had still not dissipated entirely, and he was having a hard time breathing. Meanwhile, the light in the room dimmed, though Harry could not quite tell if the sun was setting or if he was just starting to fall asleep. His brain felt fuzzy again, and he found it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open.

He stood on the roof of the Astronomy Tower, pressed up against the wall, unable to move. Dumbledore knelt on the floor nearby, his face drawn and tired, as a group of faceless Death Eaters advanced toward him. Then, the door behind them flew open. The Death Eaters stopped at once and parted to allow the new arrival to approach. As the figure drew nearer, his face came into view, and Harry was looking at a carbon copy of himself.

_This isn't right_, a voice said in Harry's mind, but it was an insignificant whisper in the numb horror that filled him. Helpless, he watched the other him approach Dumbledore, a look of pure loathing on his face as he drew his wand.

"Harry...please..." Dumbledore said weakly.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" There was a flash of green and Dumbledore was lifted off the ground, hovering for an instant, before plummeting out of sight.

Harry felt the immobilization spell lift off of him, but he still did not move. The Death Eaters and the other Harry were still standing there, staring straight ahead at the spot where Dumbledore had disappeared.

Harry felt a brief stab of pain in his scar. Something was not right. Someone was missing. Where was...?

"Potter." Harry turned his head and saw Malfoy sitting cross-legged on the ground, a chessboard set up in front of him. Malfoy opened his mouth again and spoke in an echoing voice. "It's your move, Potter."

Harry looked down at the chessboard, but it had turned into a crumbling tombstone, lying face down on a patch of dead grass. All else around him dissolved into nothingness, and he was left paralyzed and staring. Once in a while, an image would flash before his eyes, such as Dumbledore standing behind his desk or Malfoy hunched over in his corner, and his scar throbbed, but none of it seemed to matter. Only the tombstone mattered.

"Molly!" a muffled voice called from afar. Harry felt a searing pain in his scar and a sensation as though someone were forcibly removing a piece of his brain, and his eyes opened in slits. Through the haze, he could see only a shadow looming over him. "Molly!" the voice yelled again, closer this time. "I found him!" A hand shook his shoulder roughly. "Potter! Wake up!" But Harry was so exhausted he could not even think, let alone move. His eyes closed back up and his head rolled limply on his shoulders until the hand stopped shaking him.

A moment later, Harry felt himself lift off the floor and he was floating in midair. His head was killing him and every breath was agony. As he felt darkness creeping back over his mind, he did not fight it, wishing it would all just end.

- - - - -

Author's note: So, a curious question to the folks who thought they knew what was happening with the strangers of Grimmauld Place: Did you guess right? Next chapter (depending on where I cut off, this might actually be a preview for the next two chapters): a special visitor, a blind girl, a newspaper article, and an all too familiar potion. Harry has more issues than you can shake a stick at, Lupin has an idea, Malfoy has a problem with his head, and Hermione's just pissed off. I'll try to get it out next weekend, but no promises. It might end up being even longer than this one was.

Okay, so now for the credit. If you don't want spoilers for DH, don't read beyond this point. The thing that I borrowed was Regulus's middle name. The rest of this chapter was written before the book came out, so any other things that match up are purely coincidental.


	13. Chapter 13: Fractured Memories

Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed. I was happy to see that so many were able to guess about the werewolves. I like having clever reviewers, it makes things more challenging. A couple other points have been raised that I thought should be addressed. A few have mentioned that Draco's characterization is a little off, so I'll try to be more careful with that in the future. Also, one person pointed out that Moody's eye should have been able to see Draco when he was in the trunk. Now, I could come up with some big elaborate explanation relying purely on luck, but that would be an insult to the readers' intelligence. It's been a while since I've read Goblet of Fire, so that detail slipped my mind. Since I'm rather fond of that scene the way it is, I'm inclined to just call it a Flint and move on. That said, here's the extra long chapter I promised. Enjoy.

Edited 10/08/07 to fix spelling of a character's name

- - - - -

Chapter 13: Fractured Memories

Someone had buried an axe in Harry's skull. Every breath felt like a thousand needles piercing his lungs. His muscles were heavy and useless. Even his eyelids did not seem to want to move, but he finally managed to get them open. Someone had taken his glasses, but in the semi-darkness it did not matter much.

He was lying in a soft bed in a rather large room he did not recognize. There was a row of cabinets along the entirety of the wall opposite him. A table was set up by the only window in the room, half of it taken up by potion vials. He craned his stiff neck and, squinting, could just make out Ron and Hermione sitting at the table. Hermione seemed to have fallen asleep while reading, as her head was propped on an open book. Ron had slumped down in his own chair, his chin resting against his chest.

When Harry forced himself to turn his head back the other way, his stomach clenched. There was an armchair pulled up close to his bed, occupied by a girl who was curled up and appeared to be fast asleep. He could not see her face, but he would know that red hair anywhere.

"Ginny?" Harry could only manage a hoarse whisper, but Ginny's eyes fluttered open at once.

"Harry?" She raised her head. Her hair was as frizzy as Hermione's and sticking up on one side, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Nevertheless, she got out of the chair and leaned down, wrapping him in a tight hug.

Harry wanted to ask what she was doing there, but his throat would not work properly. He tried to hug back, but his arms only rose about an inch off the bed before his muscles screamed in protest, so he just settled for closing his eyes and savored the feeling of her hair brushing against his cheek. All too soon, she had released him again, moving over to the table to shake Ron and Hermione awake.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, leaping to her feet and hurrying over to hug him, too.

Ron yawned loudly and walked over more slowly, dropping into another chair by Harry's bed, rubbing his eyes. "Just like you to wait until we fall asleep to wake up," he muttered.

After another round of hugs, Hermione helped Harry sit up, handed him his glasses, and got him a glass of water from a pitcher next to his bed. In spite of his thirst, Harry sipped the water slowly, focusing all his attention on the rippling surface. He really wished they would all stop staring at him, as though waiting for him to answer some question that none of them were brave enough to say out loud.

When Harry knew he could not stall any longer, he finally spoke, keeping his eyes on the glass to avoid having to look at any of them. "What happened?"

"Well, when you ran off, we thought you wanted some time alone," Hermione said, "so we just let you go and told Mrs. Weasley you weren't feeling well. We tried to find you after dinner, but then the Order had us help them clean out a bedroom for a new guest, so we couldn't keep looking without anyone getting suspicious."

"Mum was in a right state when you didn't come down for breakfast the next day," Ron said. "We had to tell her you were missing. She had half the Order searching for you. Moody finally found you in the library that night."

"That night?" Harry asked, looking up in surprise. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days," Hermione said. "We finally got Mrs. Weasley to leave your side long enough to eat something and get some sleep yesterday."

"Actually, I think I'm the reason she left," Ginny said, sighing. "She didn't even think enough to send us an owl."

"How did you find out then?" Harry asked.

"I sent her a letter when you didn't wake up after the first day," Hermione said.

Ginny nodded. "We just got here yesterday afternoon. Fred and George were in to visit you earlier, but they had to get some sleep so they can go to work today."

"Speaking of Mum," Ron said, "someone should go get her. She'll kill us if she finds out he woke up and no one told her."

"I'll go," Ginny said. "Maybe if I give her some good news for once she'll quit crying every time I walk in the room."

A long silence stretched between them after she had gone. Ron and Hermione did not seem to want to look at him at all now, which in a way, was worse than when they had stared. The unspoken question still hung in the air, but Harry was not ready to answer it yet. Meanwhile, sunlight was just starting to filter in through the window, giving him a sense of what time it was.

"So," Harry said finally, surprised at how steady his own voice was, "what happened with Kreacher?"

"I tried to ask him more questions," Hermione said, "but he wouldn't stop crying long enough to tell us anything else. Once he realized you were gone, he took off. I don't think he could've left the house," she added hastily when Harry's eyes widened. "He's probably still roaming around somewhere."

"Hmm." Another thought occurred to him, but he hesitated a moment, not wanting to seem overtly concerned. "Have you looked in on Malfoy?" he asked in a low voice.

Hermione nodded. "And I renewed the stasis spell, so you won't have to worry about that for a few days."

"And the infection? Is it gone?"

"As far as I can tell. He's been sleeping in the corner of the room, but beyond that he's acting...well, like Malfoy."

"It was a nightmare," Ron said. "Stupid git wouldn't shut up."

Breathing a silent sigh of relief at having one less thing to worry about, Harry hunched over, pressing his hands to his forehead. The other two leaned forward immediately, concern written on their faces.

"Your scar?" Hermione asked.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know," he muttered. His whole head felt ready to split, and it was hard to distinguish his scar from the rest. As he tried to regain his bearings, something from the back of his mind surfaced momentarily. "I think I had a dream while I was out, but I can't remember it." Every time he tried to focus on it, it slipped away. Whatever it was, he had a feeling that it was not terribly important, so he soon gave up.

Ron and Hermione, however, exchanged a worried glance. Before either of them could say anything, the door burst open. Mrs. Weasley stood on the other side, looking as though she had not slept in days, her hair standing almost on end. When her eyes found Harry, she braced her hand against the door frame, clutching her chest. Then, she hurried over to the bed, and Harry found himself being hugged once again.

"Oh, thank God, you're awake," she said. She released him after a few moments, though she kept her hands on his shoulders. "You gave us all a scare."

"What happened?" Harry asked again, hoping he would get a clearer answer from her. "How did I end up in here?"

"It was that library," she said, moving over to the table and examining the potions. "You had so much dust in your lungs when Moody found you, it's a wonder you were still breathing." She picked up two vials and carried them back. "This one's for your lungs," she explained, handing over a bright green potion glowed slightly. "You'll have to take it three times a day for the next week. And this," she pressed a vial of what looked like muddy water into his other hand, "is a nutritive potion. I'll make something that's easy on your stomach for lunch, but right now we just need to get your strength up."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, staring down at the potions. He could not quite decide which one he was the more reluctant to drink.

"I'd better go start breakfast," Mrs. Weasley said. She glanced at Ron and Hermione. "I'll send some food up for you two." She hugged Harry again and left.

"That one looks poisonous," Ron said when she had gone, eyeing the green potion.

"Oh, honestly," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Go ahead, Harry."

Deciding that he should take the Nutritive potion second to lessen the possibility of throwing it up, Harry opened the other vial, took a deep breath, and downed it in one gulp. The potion was thick and burned a slow path down the back of his throat, making him sputter and cough for several moments.

"You okay?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded, though he was sure his sweat-drenched face and shaking limbs told a far different story. He swallowed several times, willing himself not to retch. When his stomach finally calmed down, he leaned against the headboard, trying not to think about how many more times he was going to have to take that potion.

As it turned out, the Nutritive potion not only looked, but also tasted extraordinarily like muddy water. In fact, Harry had his doubts that it was actually a potion. Nevertheless, it went down a lot easier, and soon he was feeling much better. Even the pain in his head lessened to a dull ache around his scar, which he tried to ignore.

At that moment, platters of toast, eggs, and bacon appeared out of thin air along with plates and silverware, hovering an inch above the table before falling with a clatter. A pitcher of pumpkin juice and two glasses materialized as well. Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke while they ate, shoveling food into their mouths as though they had not eaten in days. Meanwhile, Harry helped himself to another glass of water to try to rid the taste of mud from his mouth.

To Harry's relief, Ginny returned just as the other two finished eating, followed closely by Mr. Weasley, saving Harry from having to talk to Ron and Hermione just now. Mr. Weasley could only stay for a few minutes before he had to go to work, but no sooner had he left then the twins took his place. They visited for nearly an hour, telling Harry about all the new products that they had developed for the store. It was much the same for the rest of the morning, with various Order members dropping in to say hello and ask how he was feeling. He received so many hugs his ribs were starting to ache. Even Professor McGonagall looked in on him, though she soon had to run off to take care of some urgent business back at Hogwarts.

Mrs. Weasley carried lunch upstairs for them herself. As promised, she had brought Harry a watered-down chicken broth, and she watched him like a hawk as he ate it. When they finished eating, she gathered up their dishes.

"We're cleaning out another room this afternoon," she said to Ron and Hermione. "I expect you two upstairs in fifteen minutes." She bustled out of the room.

"Another one?" Ron said, gaping at the door. "That's the third one this week!"

"Are they moving more people in?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. "Only I don't think they're just werewolves anymore. I got a look at the last woman they moved in a couple days ago, and she had a baby that couldn't have been more than a few days old. I think the Order's branching out and helping anyone who's under threat."

"The house will be overflowing by the end of the month," Ginny said. "It's hell out there. The shop isn't getting any business. Even with Aurors on every corner, people barely leave their houses anymore."

"Have there been any more deaths?" Harry asked.

"At least a couple a day," Hermione said. "Half the names aren't being released, and the rest were people we didn't recognize. I'm sure we'd find out if it was anyone we knew though."

"Don't be so sure," Ginny said darkly. "You know that girl who works in the shop, Verity? Her father's an Auror; he died on duty about two weeks ago. The Ministry should have notified her, but she only found out yesterday morning when one of her father's coworkers came in to check up on her."

Nobody spoke for a moment as they took time to digest this. Harry could see from their faces that they were all thinking the same thing. If the Ministry was withholding names from even the families of the victims, then the only people they knew were safe were those in Grimmauld Place right now. Harry thought of all of their classmates, the teachers, and the Order members he had not seen in a while, and his stomach clenched.

"Well," Hermione finally said in a small voice, as though afraid to break the silence, "we should..."

"Yeah," Ron said, getting up. "Ginny, you coming?"

Ginny shook her head, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the floor. "You heard Mum. Just you two."

Ron looked at Hermione, who just shrugged. Once they had started for the door though, she glanced back at Harry for a moment and motioned at Ginny, as though to tell him that he should console her.

When the door had closed again, an uncomfortable silence passed in which Harry stared down at his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see Ginny's face, her expression tired and defeated. He wanted to take her hand and tell her everything would be all right, but his limbs felt awkward and disconnected from his brain.

"Are you okay?" he asked finally, hoping he did not sound as stupid as he felt.

She did not look up at him, but the corners of her mouth twitched. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Ron told us what happened when they went to the shop," he said after another moment. "Well, not everything, but bits and pieces."

"I bet shop owners down the street could have told you what happened." She clasped her hands together and leaned forward. "I locked myself in my room, but I could still hear every word. I've never heard Dad yell like that, and Mum..." She sighed. "I swear, if I'd known that would happen, I never would've left."

"I'm sorry," Harry had not meant to say it, but it was too late to take the words back.

Ginny's head shot up, her brow furrowed. "Don't you dare start blaming yourself."

"Why not?" he muttered, looking off in the opposite direction. "Everyone else does."

"No, they don't," she said firmly. "Trust me, these problems started long before we were going out. Maybe I can't convince you of that, but it's the truth."

Harry was not quite sure how to respond. Her explanation seemed sincere enough, but he could not quite shake the memory of their last moment together the night before she left. This, coupled with what had happened with Malfoy that same night, made him feel as though he might suffocate from the guilt.

"Moody said he found you in the library," Ginny said, as though she sensed the need for a subject change. Unfortunately, she had chosen another bad one. "What were you doing in there?"

Harry's chest constricted so tightly he could not breathe for a few moments. It would be one thing to tell Ron and Hermione, since he knew he had to, but Ginny? She did not even know about the Horcruxes, much less what had happened in the cave. And even if he could bring himself to tell her everything, how could he justify breaking his promise to Dumbledore not to tell anyone?

So, he shrugged, trying his best to keep his expression neutral. "Nothing. Just wanted to be alone for a bit."

She looked far from convinced. "So, why didn't you just go to your room?"

_Because I wanted to be alone. _But telling her about Malfoy was not an option either. Meanwhile, his guilt was starting to give way to annoyance. "What should it matter where I went?"

"Because last time you hid like this you thought You-Know-Who was possessing you!" She jumped to her feet, clenching her fists. Her cheeks were tinged with red, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Harry's own anger evaporated at once. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I don't...I mean, I didn't mean to..."

Ginny blinked and her expression cleared as well. She sat down and, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do, reached out to take Harry's hand. Her skin felt almost scalding hot against his. She seemed to notice this too.

"I'm fine," he said before she could ask, willing himself to believe his own words.

She narrowed her eyes at him a moment longer, then looked down, giving a small laugh. "Can you believe only a month ago we were sitting in the common room, talking about Quidditch and exams?"

Harry tried to force a smile, but it was more of a grimace. Those nights talking and laughing in the common room seemed a million years ago. So much had happened since then, sometimes he felt as though the memory of those happier moments was only a dream.

Ginny got to her feet and started leaning toward Harry. For a moment, he thought she was going to hug him again until he felt her lips press over his, her hands resting on his shoulders. His breath hitched and his eyes closed. He felt as though someone had suddenly inflated him full of air and he was floating somewhere near the ceiling, finally detached from the needles in his lungs, the lingering twinge in his scar. His arms wrapped around her, fingers running through her hair. The bed creaked as she sat down, one arm wrapped around his neck while the other rested against his chest. As Harry's arms encircled her waist, her shirt rode up just a few inches. His hand accidentally grazed her bare skin and she arched her back reflexively. Her own hand crept lower, slipping under his shirt.

An image of Malfoy floated unbidden into Harry's mind and he pulled back immediately, his throat clenching so painfully his eyes watered.

Ginny withdrew a bit too, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Harry could not find his voice to tell her that he was fine. He felt as though he had inhaled a mouthful of crushed glass, even the shallowest breath ripping through his lungs like a knife. An invisible hammer drummed a steady beat just underneath his scar, sending shock waves through his skull. He could not stop shaking, though not entirely from the pain. He tasted bile and did not dare open his mouth for fear of vomiting on Ginny.

"I'm going to get Mum," she said, standing up.

"Wait," he said hoarsely, grabbing her wrist. He felt himself begin to retch, but managed to hold it back. "Don't. I'm..." He swallowed again. "...fine."

"You're not fine," she said, though she had stopped trying to run for the door. "How bad will you let yourself get before you ask for help?"

Harry let go of her and pressed his palms over his eyes, though the pain was already starting to ebb away. He did not know what he could say that would not make things worse, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Fine," Ginny said. "I'm not your girlfriend anymore. You don't have to tell me anything. But don't you dare sit there and tell me you're fine when you're obviously not."

"Then what am I supposed to say?" he snapped.

She narrowed her eyes. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I don't even know why I came here." She started for the door again.

"Ginny, wait," he said, not wanting to leave things like this.

She froze with her hand on the doorknob, her shoulders sagging. "I can't keep doing this. I think we've proven that we can't just be around each other anymore. If you want to know the real reason why I left, I wanted to make things easier on you. So, do what you need to do. When this is all finished, you'll know where to find me."

Harry opened his mouth again, but she was already gone, the door swinging shut behind her. He leaned back against the headboard. So, she did leave because of him. The guilt was still there, but part of him was now glad that she had left. He wanted her to be able to move on, to be happy.

He did not receive another visitor until that evening, when Mrs. Weasley came up to deliver a bowl of beef stew and force another bottle of potion on him. She told him that he would be staying in that room for another night, and that, if he felt better in the morning, he could come downstairs for breakfast. Normally, Harry might have protested that he was just fine, but he knew that even if he was able to lift himself out of bed, he probably would not be able to make it to the door, much less back to his own room.

Ron and Hermione came back not long after she left. Their robes were disheveled and they looked exhausted. Hermione had a large, leather-bound book tucked under her arm.

"Mum's lost her mind," Ron said, sprawling out in the armchair Ginny had been sitting in earlier. "There's no other explanation for it."

"Ginny left," Hermione said, pulling up a chair beside Ron. "I thought you might want to know."

Harry nodded. After her dramatic exit, he would have been surprised if she stayed for long. Trying to find something else to talk about, his eyes fell on the book in Hermione's hands. "What's that?" he asked, thinking it was another book with Horcrux references.

"Oh." She looked down, as though she had forgotten she even had it. "Well, we thought..." Ron sent her a nasty look. "...okay, _I_ thought that maybe you should read it." She held it out toward him, her hand shaking slightly.

Harry took it from her, surprised at how heavy it was. The title had worn off the cover, so he flipped it open, squinting down at the faded words.

_Charting the Mind:_

_A Beginner's Guide to Legilimency and Occlumency_

"I found it in the library yesterday," Hermione said softly, as though expecting him to yell at her. "It seems to go along with...well, with what we know about Occlumency. Of course, if you don't want it—"

"No," Harry said, blinking a couple of times. His own lack of anger surprised him, but he knew that Hermione was right. He should try learning Occlumency again. "It's fine. Um, thanks."

"The technique's a little different than what you told us," she said, her voice growing a little stronger, "but it seems like it'll work. And you should be able to practice it without a Legilimens."

Harry nodded absently, skimming over the first couple pages, which offered a quick history of Legilimency and various theories associated with it.

Meanwhile, Hermione had turned to Ron. "It's getting late," she said, "and we still need to look in on Malfoy."

Ron made a face. "Do we have to? I'm sure Lupin would've noticed if anything was wrong when he delivered his dinner."

"We can't be too careful," she said. "See you tomorrow, Harry."

Harry bid them good night, and returned his attention to the book. Unfortunately, the last rays of sunlight were starting to fade, and he soon found himself squinting to make out the words, a throb of pain steadily increasing behind his eyes. He finally gave up on a section that he thought might have been about the origins of Occlumency, shutting the book with a thud that echoed through the silent room. He would just have to start in on it again in the morning. He set the book on his bedside table and lay down, squeezing his eyes shut. Exhaustion overcame him almost immediately.

He dreamed that he was sitting at a table in the rundown library, furiously scribbling nonsense words on a piece of parchment in front of him. Hermione stood over him, holding a book roughly the size of a house elf as though it was a deadly weapon, nagging him that he needed to hurry up and get to his Occlumency lesson.

"In a minute," he kept telling her. "I need to finish this letter to Kreacher." He heard a loud laugh to his left and turned. Malfoy was sitting in the corner, wearing one of the sweaters Mrs. Weasley had knitted for Harry, which draped over him like a tent. He was playing chess with a cloaked figure, who had their hood pulled up to hide their face, except the white pieces gone, replaced with several small, ornate potion vials.

Malfoy reached out a skeletal hand and moved his black queen, which, besides the king, was the only piece he had left. Then, he looked in Harry's direction with hollow eyes. "Who's winning?" he asked.

Before Harry could even think about this, a bit of cobweb caught his eye, and he found himself staring at a spot near the ceiling, where he could see a spider building its web, weaving the silky strands in a circling pattern. The light in the room dimmed, casting shadows behind the web that almost seemed to take form, and he could hear muffled commotion around him. His insides were twisting in knots, but he told himself rather forcefully that it was unimportant and continued to watch the spider, his mind starting to disconnect from his body.

Then, he had a sudden sensation as though he were rising from the depths of an ocean. For the second time, he felt the intense pain of something being pried from his brain and he heard a cry of pain, nearly drowned out by the rushing noise in his ears.

Harry heard a loud squeak next and his eyes shot open, staring up at the dark ceiling. There was a shuffling noise that sounded like feet, and his heart pounded in his chest. Something was in the room. He reached instinctively for his wand, but it was not there. Someone must have taken it while he was out.

Deciding to take his chances, Harry sat up, ignoring his muscles' screams of protest. "Who's there?" he called.

There was another squeak and a small, stooped figure leapt out of the shadows in the corner of the room. "Kreacher, is here," the house-elf said resentfully as Harry fumbled for his glasses.

"_Lumos!_" Harry said hopefully, and felt a rise in his spirits when he saw the drawer of his bedside table light up. He opened it and withdrew his wand, shining the light in Kreacher's direction. The house-elf stood with his hands clasped tightly at his sides. He very obviously did not want to be there. "What are you creeping around for?"

"Kreacher is following orders," the house-elf said through clenched teeth. He looked almost as though he were straining against invisible bonds.

"What orders?" Harry asked, suddenly alarmed. Had Kreacher somehow gotten out of the house and met up with a Death Eater?

"Master Regulus's final orders." Kreacher squinted his eyes and began jumping from one foot to the other, as though there were hot coals under his feet.

"Regulus?" Harry said. "What did he order you to do?"

Kreacher hesitated, and Harry knew he was trying to find some way out of having to answer this question. Finally, his face fell and he looked down at the ground, muttering at his feet. "Kreacher is to give the locket to one who Kreacher knows will destroy it." He held out his right hand and opened it.

Harry saw the glint of gold and his heart leapt in his chest. "Bring it here," he said.

Kreacher grimaced but stepped forward obediently, dropping the locket into Harry's outstretched hand. It was heavy and cold as ice to the touch. Harry shone the light on it to reveal the serpentine S.

"My poor Mistress!" Kreacher wailed, burying his face in his hands. "Kreacher is so sorry!"

"Don't tell anyone about what we've talked about while you were here," Harry said once the shock had worn off, feeling a twinge of pity for the elf. "Go back to Hogwarts."

Kreacher bowed, tears still streaming down his face, and disappeared with a loud crack.

Harry stared down at the locket again, his stomach turning. This was it, a real Horcrux. He was staring at a piece of Voldemort's soul. Of course, this was not the first time. After all, he had written in Riddle's diary in his second year. Still, the knowledge made him uneasy, as though Voldemort was in the room with him at this very moment. It did not help that his scar was still twinging rather painfully.

He knew he would not be able to get back to sleep, so he slipped the locket into his pocket and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He stood up slowly, wincing as his bones cracked audibly. He started across the room with short, measured footsteps, holding his wand aloft to light his way and readying his other arm just in case he fell and had to catch himself. It seemed to take forever for him to make it across the room. When he finally reached the door, he opened it just enough so that he could slip through.

He had no idea what floor he was on, though a quick scan of the paintings on the walls made him think it might be the third floor. The hallway was empty and silent save for his own short, shallow breaths. Not sure exactly where he intended to go, he set off down the hall.

When Harry reached the stairs, he saw a bright light in the hall below. Evidently, the person who was down there had stopped as well.

"What?" a female voice whimpered. "W..What's happening?"

"Who's up there?" a gruff voice called.

"It's me," Harry said, descending the stairs. He held his wand aloft and saw Moody standing in the hall below. There was a hand resting on his arm, but whoever it belonged to was hiding behind him.

"It's all right," Moody said. "It's just Potter."

"Harry?" A girl stepped out from behind Moody. She looked so different from the last time Harry had seen her, her hair lank and dull and her face drawn, but he recognized her immediately.

"Parvati?" he said.

"Where are you?" she said, taking a few steps forward and turning her head from one side to the other, her eyes strangely unfocused. She stumbled, and Moody reached out to support her.

"She's blind," he explained, letting her wrap her arm securely around his. "Your room is up two more flights, Miss Patil."

"I can take her up there," Harry offered. "I can't sleep anyway."

Moody looked at Harry suspiciously for a moment with a piercing gaze from both magical and normal eye, but he nodded. "That would be a great help, Potter. Come here." He pried Parvati's hand from his arm and guided it over to Harry's. "Take it slow on the stairs. Her room is on the fourth floor, second door to the right. If you need anything, just give a yell. There are a couple other guards patrolling the house tonight, so someone should hear. I'll be downstairs."

Harry nodded and slowly started back the way he came. Parvati walked along beside him, clutching his arm with an almost bruising force as she put one tentative foot in front of the other. It took a very long time for them to get up the first staircase, and he did not speak except to tell her when the steps began and ended. As they reached the landing, he finally asked, "What happened?"

"I...I was out b...buying potion s...supplies," she stuttered. "W...when I got b...back...the D...Dark Mark..." Her voice broke. Harry wanted to ask more questions but thought maybe he should just let her finish on her own. After a few moments, she regained the ability to speak. "They came out the d...door, two of them. They c...cursed me, and I b...blacked out. And w...when I woke up...I couldn't s...see."

Harry waited a moment, but she did not continue. "So, you're parents...?"

She nodded. "And P...Padma." She sobbed, stopping in her tracks to bury her face in Harry's shoulder.

He patted her back awkwardly, not sure what else to do as he tried to wrap his mind around this. Padma Patil was dead? He had not known Padma all that well, but the thought that someone from his own year, someone he had gone to classes with, the girl Ron had taken to the Yule Ball had died was hard to believe. Yet, as Parvati's tears soaked through his sleeve, Harry knew there was denying it.

Parvati finally pulled back, wiping her eyes, and they continued on their way. Harry did not ask any more questions, a lump in his throat preventing him from even speaking. Every once in a while, Parvati let out a quiet sob, but was otherwise silent as well.

After what seemed like hours, they finally reached the landing of the fourth floor. Harry led Parvati over to her room and pushed the door open. Outside the window, the sun was starting to rise, casting a soft light over the room, so he put out his wand. He helped Parvati over to her bed.

"Thanks," she said shakily, wiping her face again.

"No problem," he said, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

"You can g...go," Parvati said. "I should p...probably get some s..sleep."

As Harry left the room, he knew that he should probably check up on Malfoy, but he very much did not want to. So, reminding himself that Lupin, and probably Ron or Hermione as well, would be looking in on him soon anyway, Harry went down to the kitchen. The only person he saw on his way was Moody, who was patrolling the first floor. Harry nodded to let him know that Parvati was safely in her room and continued on downstairs.

To his surprise, he was not the first person to arrive in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, though the grave look in his eyes told Harry that it was anything but. "Nice to see your finally up."

"Yeah," Harry said distractedly, eyeing the Daily Prophet that Mr. Weasley's hand rested on, "were there more attacks?"

"Several, I'm afraid," Mr. Weasley said, unfolding the paper and passing it to Harry, "but there is a spot of good news. Two Death Eaters have been caught, Amycus and Alecto Carrow."

Harry stared down at the pictures of the witch and wizard, both of whom were sneering up at him. "I've seen them before," he said. "They were two of the ones who attacked Hogwarts."

Mr. Weasley leaned forward. "You saw them?" When Harry nodded, he continued. "They went on a killing spree in Bristol a few days ago, but we're having a hard time tracking down very many witnesses. Most people are too scared to talk. If you could testify to seeing them at the Hogwarts attack, it would really help out."

"I'll do it," Harry said at once.

Mr. Weasley smiled. "Good show, Harry. I'll pass the word along to have your name put on the witness list. According to the paper, the trial's set for a week from today. You can read it if you want. I need to get to work early today. Lots of paperwork." He took one last sip of his coffee and left the room.

Harry turned his attention back to the paper. He scanned the article about the Carrows, but it gave no names of the victims, just the number of them: seven. A dozen more anonymous people had been admitted to St. Mungo's, and an undisclosed number had been "relocated for their own safety."

Then, as he turned the page to see what the other attacks Mr. Weasley had mentioned were, he was met with a large picture of Severus Snape on page three, glaring up at him with the same amount of contempt he had always shown Harry in person. Harry felt an immediate flair of anger, but forced it down and looked at the article underneath.

_Severus Snape: Dead or On the Run?_

_Since the recent attack on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in which Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was viciously murdered, the Ministry of Magic has stepped up it's efforts to hunt down Death Eaters. The most wanted of these servants of You-Know-Who is Severus Snape, former Professor at Hogwarts and the suspected murderer of Dumbledore. Snape was last seen fleeing the school grounds with young Draco Malfoy, another suspected Death Eater, in tow._

_Dozens of reported sightings of Snape have flooded in, from London to Brazil. Some report that Malfoy is still with him, while others claim that he is traveling alone. Two Muggles in a small French village reported seeing a man matching his description limping down the street with part of one of his legs missing, while another Muggle in Istanbul, Turkey claims to have seen him lying dead in an alleyway. None of these reports have turned up any clues as of yet, and the Ministry is investigating the possibility of memory tampering._

_Meanwhile, public opinion is mixed._

_"Personally, I think he's dead." a barman who wished to remain anonymous said. "You get a lot of seedy customers around here, and I overhead someone say he'd been killed."_

_The new Headmistress of Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall, however, disagrees. "Severus is a very resourceful man," she told this reporter last Thursday. "I have no doubt that he is still alive. As to where he could be, I don't know."_

_Both were also questioned about the Malfoy boy, but neither commented on his possible status._

_"I assure you, the Ministry is doing everything it can to track down Severus Snape and his fellow Death Eaters," Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour said in an interview. He declined to answer any more questions, as he believed it might hurt the investigation._

Harry blinked down at the page. He, like McGonagall, sincerely doubted that Snape was dead. In fact, he would not be surprised if all of the reports that were coming in were false. He knew first hand that Snape was a master of trickery. The conflicting reports about Malfoy still traveling with Snape told him already that many of them were not true.

The door opened at that moment and Hermione stumbled into the room, yawning. "Oh," she said when she spotted Harry, "you're up early."

"Woke up," he said simply as she sat across from him, waving her wand to summon the pot of coffee Mr. Weasley had made. He told her about seeing Parvati upstairs and what had happened.

"I can't believe it," she said, clutching her coffee cup as though she were trying to draw every last bit of heat from it, in spite of the warmth of the room. "I mean, Padma...we _knew_ her. We had classes with her."

Harry nodded. "That's not all. Look." He turned the paper back to the article on the Carrows and pushed it over to her.

"They were at Hogwarts," Hermione said immediately when she looked at the picture "I saw them."

"Me too. Mr. Weasley's already asked me to be a witness at their trial."

Her head shot up. "But you'll have to tell them you were on the Tower. What if they start asking questions about Malfoy?"

Harry's stomach clenched. He had not thought of that. "I...I'll just tell them I don't know anything about that."

"Harry, you can't lie to the Wizengamot!"

"I won't. If I can word my answers right, I shouldn't have to. So long as they don't ask me where he's hiding or anything, I'll be fine."

"I suppose..." She still looked unconvinced as she flipped the page. Her eyes widened as they fell on the picture of Snape. "Did you see—?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "they still haven't found him."

She offered him a sort of half smile. "I'm sure they'll catch him sooner or later."

"I'm sure they won't," he muttered.

Hermione read the rest of the paper, but she did not find any more references to captured Death Eaters, only more nameless attacks and murders. Mrs. Weasley joined them soon afterwards, giving Harry a disapproving look. No doubt she had expected him to stay in his bed a little longer. Nevertheless, she had brought him a bottle of the potion for his lungs, which he took reluctantly. At least he was starting to get used to it now.

Ron showed up just as Mrs. Weasley was putting platters of eggs, toast, and sausages on the table. Harry and Hermione gave him a brief recounting of the news as others began to filter into the room as well. As before the full moon, about a dozen of people Harry now knew to be werewolves showed up, many of them bearing new scratches. Young Ivan Petrov in particular had a rather nasty looking scratch under his left eye. There were a few new people at the table as well, including the woman with the baby that Hermione had mentioned seeing. A number of Order members also turned up, though most just came to grab a quick bite to eat before they rushed off to work. Several shot quick looks at Harry, giving him the impression that they had just wanted to check to see that he was all right. In spite of the constant stream of people in and out of the room, there was very little conversation, and the general mood was very somber.

"I think you should try calling for Kreacher again," Hermione said later when they were heading back upstairs. "Maybe we can get some more information out of him."

"Actually, I saw him last night," Harry said. With everything that had happened that morning, he had completely forgotten. He told them what Kreacher had said, pulling the locket out and dangling it in midair so they could see it.

"So, that's it?" Hermione said in a quiet voice.

"Hang on," Ron said, scooping his hand under the locket and squinting at it. "I think I've seen this before. Yeah, when we were cleaning out those cursed cabinets a couple years ago."

Harry nodded, recalling the locket that none of them had been able to open. "Kreacher must've stolen it from the boxes while we weren't looking. Anyway, now that we have one, we should be able to find a way to destroy it."

Hermione, who seemed to have recovered from her shock, spoke again. "Maybe we should put it away until we think of something," she said. "We have no idea what kinds of curses could be on it."

Harry was reluctant to part with the locket, but the mental image of Dumbledore's burnt hand made him drop the necklace into Hermione's outstretched hand.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll hide it somewhere safe."

Harry nodded, though his eyes followed the necklace as she transferred it into her pocket.

"Well, at least we've got something," Ron said. "Now we just have to—"

"Harry." They turned to see Lupin limping toward them from down the hall. He looked terrible, his face drawn and haggard. Bandages were wound around his neck, a spot of blood leaking through on one side. "I see you're doing better. I would have visited you, but I've been really busy."

"What happened to you?" Harry asked.

"Oh, a couple of the other werewolves caught me off guard. The other guards managed to get them off of me, before they did too much damage. I promise, it's not as bad as it looks, though it does take entirely too long to get up and down the stairs. I had some help with passing out breakfast today and I still only just finished"

"Was anyone else hurt?" Hermione asked.

"One of them did manage pin Diggle down for a moment, but we got him back on his feet before anything happened. At any rate, that's not important right now. I need to speak with you." His attention had turned to Harry, but he added a quick, "All three of you. Come with me."

When they reached Lupin's room, he locked the door, speaking before any of them could raise any questions. "Have you seen the _Prophet_ today?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "the Callows were caught."

"No, not that," Lupin said, waving his hand dismissively. "The article about Snape."

"What about it?" Harry asked.

"It occurs to me that we have a resource for finding Snape right under our noses."

"Of course," Hermione said, raising her hand to her forehead. "Malfoy."

"But he'd never tell us anything, even if he does know," Ron said.

"I believe we can convince him," Lupin said, drawing from his pocket a small vial of clear potion that Harry would recognize anywhere. His eyes rested on Harry for a moment, as though sensing his anxiety. "Of course, you three can be in the room when he's questioned this time."

"But even if we do get something out of him," Harry said, "how will we get that information to the Ministry?"

"We'll pass it off as an anonymous tip. Enough people are too scared to give their names, they won't think anything of it."

Harry glanced at the other two, half hoping they would come up with another excuse not to do this. Nobody wanted to catch Snape more than he did, but the thought of Lupin questioning Malfoy again, especially in front of Ron and Hermione, made his stomach turn. The others looked convinced, however, so he was forced to concede defeat.

"Okay then," Lupin said. "Let's go."

As they walked out the door, Harry tried to hang back a bit, but Lupin seemed to notice what he was doing and matched his pace, limping along beside him. He lowered his voice so that only Harry would hear. "This is strictly business. I'm only going to ask him questions about Snape."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, speeding up to walk with Ron and Hermione.

When they got to the room, Malfoy, who had been sitting in his corner as usual, leapt to his feet, his eyes flitting nervously between Harry, Ron and Hermione. When Lupin appeared behind them, his face turned ashen, as though his worst fears had been confirmed.

Lupin shut and locked the door, pointing his wand around the room, putting up wards so no one could listen in. "Mr. Malfoy," he said when he had finished, taking out the Veritaserum, "we need to ask you a few questions."

There was no doubt about it. Malfoy was positively terrified now. In fact, he looked so desperate for an escape, Harry drew his wand in case he decided to rush them. Ron and Hermione seemed to have the same idea. Faced with four wands, Malfoy looked as though he was about to faint.

"You know how this works," Lupin said. There was no anger in his voice, but all kindness had left him as well.

Malfoy, still keeping a sharp eye on them, moved slowly over to the bed and sat down, leaning his back against the headboard.

Lupin waved his wand once and a little jet of white light shot out, hitting Malfoy square in the chest. The fear left Malfoy's eyes and his hands fell limply to his sides as he stared blankly at the opposite wall. "Calming spell," Lupin explained, "it keeps him from using any sort of Occlumency to modify his answers. It'll be easiest if only one of us asks the questions, otherwise we might confuse him. If you have to talk to me, tap my shoulder and we'll go talk in the hall."

Harry did not see how Occlumency could be used against Veritaserum, but that did not seem important right now. He watched as Lupin limped over to the bed and pried Malfoy's mouth open to tip a few drops of the potion in. He put the cork back in the vial and put it back away.

"What is your name?" Lupin asked, grabbing a chair from a nearby desk so that he could sit down.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy." Malfoy replied in a passive voice.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place."

"Where were you before that?"

"The Weasleys' house."

"Before that?"

"Potter's uncle's house."

"Where were you when you cut off your Dark Mark?"

"A village just outside of London." Malfoy's eyes narrowed for a moment, as though he was concentrating really hard. "I don't remember the name."

"Were you alone?"

"Yes."

"How did you get there?"

"I Apparated to a village two miles away, and then I walked to throw them off my trail."

"Who?"

"The Death Eaters."

"Which Death Eaters?"

Malfoy lifted his shoulders slightly. "I don't know."

"Did you actually see anyone following you?"

"No."

"Then how do you know they were?"

"Snape would have send them after me."

"Were you staying with Snape somewhere before you ran away?"

"Y...yes." Malfoy's hesitation was so brief that Lupin did not seem to notice it, but Harry's heart immediately leapt in his chest. He had only ever seen one other person questioned with Veritaserum, but he was certain that hesitation was a bad sign.

"Where were you two staying?"

Malfoy opened his mouth, but then his eyes suddenly squeezed shut and he let out a strangled noise, collapsing onto his side and writhing. Lupin swore and leapt to his feet, grabbing Malfoy's head and attempting to turn it upwards.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, not even thinking to keep the panic out of his voice. "What's happening to him?"

"Memory Charm," Lupin said in a loud voice so he would be heard over Malfoy's choking. "Hold him still."

Ron and Hermione moved over obediently, rolling Malfoy over and pinning his arms so that he lay sideways on the bed. Meanwhile, Harry went to the other side of the bed and pinned Malfoy's legs to the side of the bed so he could not kick the other two. Malfoy struggled violently against them, his eyes rolling back into his head and a light foam beginning to form around his mouth.

"What—?" Harry started to say.

"Shh," Lupin said, sitting back in his chair and grasping Malfoy's head between his hands. "I need quiet." He inclined his head, locking eyes with Malfoy.

Harry had no idea what was going on, but he did not dare try to speak to Lupin again. Besides, he needed all of his focus to keep Malfoy's legs held down. Ron and Hermione seemed to be having just as much trouble, their muscles straining as they struggled to keep Malfoy as still as possible. They knew that whatever Lupin was doing, breaking eye contact would be disastrous right now.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Malfoy went limp, his eyes fluttering shut. Lupin let out a rush of air and sat back in his chair, breathing heavily.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked.

"Legilimency," Lupin said in a strained voice. "Somebody's put a Memory Charm on the boy, and a poor one at that. They didn't remove the memories; they just fractured them. I'm afraid my skills are quite minimal, but I managed to repair enough to calm him down. He must know something that someone didn't want getting out."

"What do you think it is?" Hermione asked.

"I couldn't even begin to guess," Lupin said. He seemed to have mostly regained control of himself now. "It's nearly lunchtime, you three should head downstairs. I'll stay here and see if I can repair some more of his memory. Tell Molly something's come up and I've had to leave. She'll know to send someone else around with the meal cart. And lock the door on your way out."

Harry could do nothing but nod mutely and follow Ron and Hermione into the hall.

"What could Malfoy possible know that would get him a Memory Charm?" Ron asked as they started down the hall.

Hermione shrugged. "Must be something really important."

"Do you reckon Snape did it?"

"I don't know, maybe. It has to have been someone who either cared enough not to kill him or needed him for something else. Harry, what do you think?"

"Huh?" Harry had been staring off, not really paying attention.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked. "You look a bit peaky. Are your lungs hurting again or...or your scar?"

"I'm fine," Harry said. Truthfully, his lungs were starting to burn again, and his scar did itch slightly, but that was not what bothered him. All he could see in his mind was Lupin bowed over Malfoy's still form, penetrating his mind and reading his thoughts. Harry remembered what Legilimency entailed, how Snape had drawn up images of things that had happened to Harry in the past, and he shuddered. Even though he was almost certain now that Lupin knew what had happened, the thought of Lupin accidentally stumbling upon a memory of that dreadful night almost made Harry turn around and run back for his room.

After a quick lunch in which none of them spoke except to deliver Lupin's message to Mrs. Weasley, they were once again on their way back upstairs. On their way back upstairs, however, Hermione broke the silence, insisting that Harry should go start reading the Occlumency book.

"Lay off him!" Ron said when they reached the second floor and Hermione had for the third time mentioned Harry's lungs being too weak for him to go back to the library to look for more Horcrux books anyway. "It's not like he's been having dreams again, right?"

Harry started to say no, but a partial memory leapt out of the shadows of his mind. "Actually, I did have a dream last night."

The other two stopped dead in their tracks, whirling around to face him. "What sort of dream?" Hermione asked.

"Well, I only remember bits and pieces," Harry said, honestly amazed that he could remember any of it at all. "And it started off like a normal dream. You were yelling at me to go to my Occlumency lessons, I was writing something, and Malfoy was playing chess with...someone." He strained to remember more. "Then, I saw this spiderweb in the corner and the rest of the dream just kind of...faded away."

"A web?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's it?"

Harry nodded. "It was really strange though. The whole time I was looking at it I felt...nervous. Like, I was afraid someone was going to find me or something." He closed his eyes and put a hand to his forehead.

"Harry, this is really serious," Hermione said. "If Voldemort's making you see things again—"

"You think You-Know-Who made him see a spiderweb?" Ron asked, laughing. "If he did, he's cracked."

"Besides, Dumbledore said he wouldn't do it again," Harry said. "He's using Occlumency to keep me out of his thoughts."

"But what if he's found a way to access your thoughts without you seeing his?" Hermione asked. "Or to clear the memories that get transferred into your mind when he's finished?"

"Come off it," Ron said. "You're starting to sound like Luna."

Hermione sniffed loudly. "Well, if that's the way you're going to be..." She stormed off down the hall, leaving the other two to gape after her.

"Unbelievable," Ron muttered, shaking his head. "You know she'll be back down here in an hour yelling at us to help her research."

"Yeah," Harry said absently.

"Do you want to play a game of chess or something?"

"Hmm? Oh," Harry said, "no, not really. Hermione's probably right, I should be studying Occlumency."

"Oh, okay," Ron said. "I guess I'll just..." He shrugged. "...pretend I have something better to do." He turned and walked off to his room.

Harry sighed. How had things gotten like this? Ron and Hermione bickering was nothing new, it had been almost constant all through last year. But at least then Harry had been on good terms with both of them. He felt as though he were in back in fifth year, with the awkward conversations and people constantly looking at him as though he might blow at any minute. He wanted to just attribute it all to the recent problems with his scar, but he knew that was a lie. These problems started the moment Hermione brought Malfoy back to the Dursleys, and multiplied tenfold on the night that Harry was desperate to forget.

As he had nothing better to do, Harry spent the rest of the afternoon in the room he had slept in the previous night, reading the Occlumency book. This time, he skipped over the history and Legilimency portions and went straight to the section that explained how Occlumency worked.

Unfortunately, he soon found himself lost in a sea of symbolism. The book went into a detailed discussion of how the mind was like a maze that one could warp and reshape. He reread one particular sentence about trick walls about a dozen times without really understanding it.

A few hours later, he headed down to dinner, not knowing any more about Occlumency than he had when he started reading. The company that night was about the same, though Hermione was conspicuously missing from the table. Knowing that she had probably just gotten caught up in researching, Harry told Mrs. Weasley that she had not been feeling well. Mrs. Weasley then insisted that a plate of food be brought up for her.

"I'll do it," Ron volunteered immediately. Harry did not argue. He had seen Ron's frequent glances at the door and knew that he was worried.

So, half an hour later, when Harry had finished eating, he headed upstairs alone. He was not sure where he was going, as he knew that he probably should not interrupt Lupin's work on Malfoy. When he reached the second floor landing, however, he saw the door to his room open and Lupin stepped out, looking on the verge of collapse.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," Lupin said in a hoarse voice. "The damage from the charm is very extensive though. I only managed to repair about half of it. I can work on the rest tomorrow."

"What do we do until then?"

"He'll be fine for the night. I've put up some light barriers in his mind to keep those memories hidden from him for now. Since we don't know what they are yet, it's best to err on the side of caution for the moment so he doesn't try to run off on us."

"So he won't remember any of it yet?"

"No, and I would advise you not to tell him what happened. I had to make the barrier in his mind weak so that I'll be able to break through it tomorrow, so don't give him a reason to try to retrieve those memories."

"Okay," Harry said. He still did not understand exactly what Lupin was talking about, but at least he knew what not to do.

Lupin smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "I should go before Molly assigns me to bed rest. I'll be back in the morning." He limped off toward his own room. Harry took a deep breath and turned toward his door reluctantly.

Malfoy was still on the bed, though he was now propped up against the headboard again. When Harry swung the door shut, he jumped, his eyes shooting open. He blinked several times, then moved his head in slow motion to look at Harry with glazed eyes.

"What happened?" he asked in a slightly slurred voice. He shook his head and his focus seemed to sharpen. "What'd I tell him?"

"Nothing," Harry said. "You didn't know the answers to his questions."

Malfoy turned away, smirking to himself. "Good." He groaned and clutched his head. "Damn, I think that potion was spiked with something."

Harry did not say anything, keeping his distance. He hoped Malfoy was not planning to take over the bed for the night. Harry might have just gone upstairs to the room he had spent the last few nights in, but he did not want to take the chance of someone coming here and finding him missing.

Luckily, Malfoy got up and stumbled off toward the loo at that moment, leaving the door slightly ajar. As Harry went to sit on the bed, he heard retching coming from the other side of the door. He waited, wondering if maybe he should go check to make sure Malfoy was all right. He heard the sink run for a minute or two, and then Malfoy reappeared in the doorway, his face tinged pink and his hair slightly damp.

"Mental," he muttered, moving across the room and sitting on Harry's trunk, "the lot of you."

"I'd think you'd be a little more grateful," Harry said, "considering we're protecting you from the Ministry."

"Oh, yeah," Malfoy said sarcastically, "because it's so much better being a prisoner here than in Azkaban."

"Well, you're welcome to walk out that door. Of course, you won't make it ten feet before the Order catches you."

Malfoy sneered. "You wouldn't let me go, or else you would've turned me in already." He seemed to take Harry's silence as confirmation and laughed. "What's the matter? Afraid I'll tell someone your dirty little secret?"

"What secret?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean." He let out an amused laugh. "Or have you convinced yourself that it never happened? You always were one for denial."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"I might remind you that you were the one who made the first move. Of course—"

"I said shut up!"

"Or what?" Malfoy stood up. "You make a good show, but I already know your strategy. You won't attack me until I've really pissed you off."

"Well, you're doing a fine job of that," Harry said, his fists clenching.

Malfoy just smirked and took a few steps toward him. "I think I know what you're problem is. You're too much of a prude."

Harry's hand moved to his wand, but he stopped himself at the last minute. No, he would not let Malfoy have the satisfaction of being right.

Malfoy glanced at Harry's wand, his eyes flickering for a moment, but he showed no other reaction as he continued forward. "You won't admit to yourself that you liked it."

Harry leapt to his feet, his anger finally boiling over. Malfoy was within arms reach now, too close for comfort, so Harry shoved him so hard he nearly fell over.

"Oh, is that the way you want to play, then?" Malfoy said once he had regained his footing. "All right."

Harry had no time to react as Malfoy rushed him. The force of his body connecting with Harry's chest sent a jolt of pain through him that made his vision go black for a moment. Harry fell back onto the bed and curled up on his side, folding his arms over his stomach as he gasped for air. He felt hands grip his arms and flip him onto his back, and suddenly he was staring up at Malfoy.

Harry did the only thing he could think of. He drew his legs back as far as he could and kicked. Unfortunately, Malfoy's did not let go, and they both fell to the floor in a heap. There was an audible crunching sound as Harry's glasses broke, and he felt a piece of the lens dig into his skin, but he did not care. He fought to untangle himself, but Malfoy was quicker. Soon, Harry found himself flat on his back, his arms pinned again, and Malfoy sitting on his chest. Harry tried to kick him again, but with his breathing so restricted, all he could manage was a feeble struggle.

"You know, I heard you were sick," Malfoy said. Harry, whose broken glasses had fallen off at some point during the struggle, could not see his expression. "I didn't know you were this far off your game."

Harry tried to tell Malfoy to shut up, but all that came out was a wheezing noise. His head was pounding, his lungs screaming for air. He started squirming again, desperate to free himself before he blacked out.

"Relax, Potter." Malfoy's voice echoed slightly, as though it was coming from far away. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already." He released Harry's arms and stood up, stepping lightly over Harry's body.

Harry took a great shuddering gasp, sitting up so fast his vision went dark again and pain lanced through his head. He clutched his chest, which felt as though someone had buried a sword into it, breathing so heavily he was sure he would pass out.

He managed to stay conscious, however, and when he had regained the ability to speak, he let out a small laugh. "You couldn't...kill me," he rasped out, "even if...you wanted...to."

"What're you on about, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was dismissive, but Harry thought he also heard a touch of fear.

"You couldn't...kill...Dumbledore."

"I would have if I'd gotten the chance!" His tone was angry now, but the fear was definitely there this time.

Harry tried to laugh again, but coughed instead. Blood from the cut made by his glasses' lens trickled into his eye and he blinked, rubbing it. "You had plenty of chance."

There was a sudden noise, as though Malfoy had just jumped down off of something. "What?" he asked in a low voice.

"I was there," Harry said, squinting at the ground for his glasses. "I saw you hesitate."

Harry's hand had just brushed over his glasses when he suddenly felt a hand knot in his hair, snapping his head back so hard he heard his neck pop. Malfoy's face hovered inches above his, his expression livid.

"You don't know a damn thing about it, Potter," he hissed.

Harry tried to smirk, but he imagined it looked more like a grimace. "Funny how defensive you get when _you're _the one being insulted."

Malfoy's grip tightened, making Harry let out an involuntary gasp, and then he let go, stalking off across the room. Harry took the opportunity to locate his glasses and give them a tap with his wand to repair them. When he looked up again, Malfoy was standing in the corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring.

Harry struggled to his feet, trying not breathe any more deeply than he had to. His chest still felt constricted, as though some invisible weight was trying to crush his ribs. He collapsed onto his bed, rolling onto his side, as it was the position that hurt the least. He expected Malfoy to start yelling, maybe to even attack him again, but nothing happened.

His eye stung, and he rubbed it again, flecks of dry blood coming off on his fingers. He would have to come up with some excuse for it, since he did not know any spells to heal cuts. Maybe he would say that he tripped or something.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. I probably could have chopped this chapter in half, but I thought there might be a revolt if Draco didn't make an appearance. Next chapter: Hermione's room smells, further forays into Malfoy's mind pull up some rather shocking information, and a moment of pleasure leads to horror. It won't be nearly as long as this one, but, nevertheless, I think you'll enjoy it.


	14. Chapter 14: Headaches and Horrors

Author's Note: Many thanks to the reviewers. I was pleasantly surprised to get so many. A special shout out goes to Neena824 for letting me know that I spelled Parvati's name wrong. I guess I've read too much fanfiction; I'd convinced myself that her name was actually Pavarti. A thousand apologies. The errors have now been fixed. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 14: Headaches and Horrors

Harry awoke the early next morning with an aching pain in his chest and a headache. He put his glasses on and glanced immediately at the corner, half expecting Malfoy to jump at him, but he was curled up on the floor, fast asleep. Harry hardly had time to get out of bed and begin to dress before a knock at the door made him jump. Pulling his shirt on, he went to see who it was.

"Sorry if..." Lupin stopped his eyes focusing on the cut over Harry's eye. "What happened?"

"I tripped," Harry lied. "Broke my glasses."

Lupin narrowed his eyes, but wordlessly pointed his wand at Harry's head. Harry felt a slight itching sensation around his eye as the cut healed. Lupin then glanced over Harry's shoulder at Malfoy's still form and spoke in a low voice. "I thought if I start early, I might be able to finish repairing his memories today."

Harry nodded and moved aside. Lupin waved his wand at Malfoy. "_Stupefy_," he muttered. A bolt of red light shot out of his wand, hitting Malfoy. The spell did not appear to have done anything, but Harry knew that it was just to make sure Malfoy would not wake up.

Lupin levitated Malfoy onto the bed, settling him down so that his head was at the foot of the bed. He then got the chair from Harry's desk and set it up so that he would be sitting directly behind Malfoy's head.

"Lock the door on your way out," Lupin said as he sat down and placed his hands on either side of Malfoy's head, gently peeling his eyelids back. "I don't want anyone walking in."

Harry wanted to stay, but he knew there would be no point in arguing, so he stepped out into the hallway. He had just shut the door and started in the direction of the kitchen when he heard someone cry out and stumbling footsteps behind him. He whirled around and hurried off in the opposite direction.

He found Parvati about halfway up the staircase to the third floor, clutching the arm of Hestia Jones and struggling to stand. Parvati's head turned in Harry's general direction. "Who's there?"

"It's me," Harry said, climbing up the stairs to meet the pair. Jones smiled and inclined her head briefly at him.

"Harry?" Parvati reached out, groping the air for a moment before her hand found his arm.

"Would you take her downstairs for me, dear?" Jones asked. "I need to be heading to the Ministry."

"Sure," Harry said.

Once Jones had thanked him and hurried off, he and Parvati began their slow descent down the stairs. She was still unsteady, tripping several times.

"I'm sorry I'm such a bother," she said when they reached the bottom of the first staircase and she nearly fell over.

"No, it's no trouble," Harry said, helping her back to her feet. He paused for a moment. "Isn't there something they can do? You know, for your eyes?"

"Moody said they'd try," Parvati said, her voice shaking, "but even if they do, I won't be able to see like...like I could before."

She did not say anything else, and Harry decided not to bother her further. They were about halfway down the first floor when a door on their right swung open, making them both jump.

"Oh, good morning, Harry, Parvati," Hermione said. She looked as though she was in an exceptionally good mood, which seemed odd considering the way they had left things the previous night.

"Hermione?" Parvati said hesitantly. Once Hermione confirmed that it was her, however, she relaxed, and they started downstairs again. Harry wanted to ask what Hermione was so cheerful about, but he decided to wait until they had a moment alone.

As they reached the Entrance Hall, however, the door to the basement stairs slammed open and a girl streaked past them, clutching something tightly in her hands. Harry was able to pull Parvati out of the way just in time to keep her from being knocked over, but he could do nothing to shield her from the shrieks that suddenly filled the hall.

"_Filthy Mudbloods!"_ The curtains of Mrs. Black's portrait flung open. "_Blood traitors!_"

"Anya!" Ivan came running up the basement stairs, clutching a stitch in his side. "Get back here! _Anya!_"

"_Halfbreeds in my house!_"

"Ivan what's going on?" Harry shouted over the continued screeching.

"She stole something!" Ivan said, pointing toward the upstairs landing where Anya had disappeared from view.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled. She had her arms wrapped around Parvati, who was sobbing loudly, her hands pressed over her ears.

Harry nodded at her and took Parvati's arm again. Together, they managed to lead her across the room and down to the kitchen. Ivan glanced at the stairs again, but finally followed them.

"_Scum of the earth!_" Mrs. Black screamed at them just before the door slammed shut, cutting off anything else she might have said.

"It's okay," Hermione said, helping Parvati to the nearest chair. "It was just a portrait. You're in the kitchen now."

"What happened?" Harry asked Ivan, who was still standing by the door with an edgy look about him.

"I caught her swiping something out of there," Ivan said, pointing at a large, cardboard box in the corner. "Mr. Weasley brought it in last night after you left. He said it belongs to you."

Harry turned his attention to the box. It seemed to hold various odds and ends, mostly jewels, silverware, and a few potion bottles. He reached inside and withdrew a silver cup emblazoned with the Black family crest.

"These are the things Mundungus stole," he said, blinking down at it. "The Order must have tracked them down.

"Anya was going through it when I got down here," Ivan said. "I didn't get a good look at what she took though. Do you want me to go get it from her?"

"No, that's okay." Harry dropped the cup back in the box. "She can keep it." He had no attachment to anything in that box. All it represented was everything Sirius despised.

Ivan hesitated, glancing at the door again, but then went to sit down. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's like I told you, she's not right in the head."

"Yeah," Harry said.

Mrs. Weasley arrived in the room at that moment, out of breath and with her wand drawn, demanding to know why Mrs. Black's portrait was screaming. After they explained, she sighed. "I told Arthur not to leave that box down here," she said, bustling over to the stove to start breakfast. "I'll have it moved into one of the spare closets until you can have a chance to go through it."

Harry nodded, though he doubted he ever would.

Breakfast went by without further incident. Mrs. Weasley asked Hermione if Parvati could be moved into her room so that she would not have as far to go downstairs. Hermione, who seemed to have regained her cheerful mood, agreed. Ron seemed to notice the oddity as well and gave Harry a questioning glance, but he just shrugged.

As they were heading upstairs after breakfast (Parvati had stayed behind to talk with Mrs. Weasley), Harry finally turned to Hermione. "Okay, what is it? Why are you so happy?"

Hermione glanced around to make sure they were alone before responding in an undertone. "I think I've figured out a way to find the other Horcruxes," she said, "or at least to find out if there are any more in the house." She took a sharp turn at her door and went inside.

Harry exchanged a bewildered look with Ron, shrugged, and followed after her.

Harry did a double take as the scent of lavender hit him, so strong it made his eyes water. Ron pinched his nose closed the moment he stepped in, making a face. Once Harry's vision cleared, he saw that Hermione had set up her cauldron on her desk, a deep red potion bubbling inside. Seeming impervious to the smell herself, she pointed her wand at the door, muttering a quick spell, and then strode over to the cauldron to stir the contents, checking a book that lay open next to it.

"What is that?" Ron asked.

"A Lost and Found Potion," Hermione said.

"Is it supposed to smell like that?" Harry rasped out, clutching his chest. He was almost certain this was bad for his lungs.

"Actually, the potion itself smells like rotten eggs," Hermione said. She reached around the cauldron and pulled a small, smoking bowl into view. "I've been burning lavender to cover it up."

"I think I'd prefer the eggs," Ron said as Harry doubled over coughing. "Why couldn't we smell it out in the hall?"

"I put up Imperturbable Charms to keep it in," Hermione said. She strode over to the window and threw it open. "There, we'll let things air out for a while."

"So...what is this potion supposed to do?" Harry asked once he had regained some control of himself, sitting on the edge of the bed in an attempt to stop the world from spinning.

"Well, obviously, it finds things that are lost," she said. "I actually came across it a couple weeks ago, but the way it works, you need an item that has similar properties to the lost item in order to activate the potion."

"So," Harry said, his mind starting to clear a bit as the smell began to lighten, "we have to use the locket?"

"Exactly."

"But wouldn't the potion just try to find other lockets then?" Ron asked.

"I don't think so. The potion is designed to latch onto the item's strongest attribute, which should be Voldemort's soul."

"So, what are we supposed to do now?" Harry asked.

"Well, the potion isn't quite done. It still has to brew for another few hours, and after we add the locket, it'll take until late tonight to crystallize." She held the book up so they could see the illustration of small, pink crystals.

"Then what?"

She put the book down and opened the drawer of her desk, drawing out a rather large scroll. She unfurled it on the floor, revealing that it was actually several sheets of parchment, containing what looked like very detailed blueprints.

"Is that...?" Ron said.

"...the house?" Hermione nodded. "We just have to scatter the crystals over these. If there are Horcruxes anywhere, the crystals should converge in that area."

"But even if we do find another one," Ron said, looking thoroughly unconvinced, "how are we supposed to destroy it?"

"I don't know yet." she hesitated, then reached into the drawer again, pulling out the locket.

The room went unnaturally silent as they all stared at the locket, which dangled from its chain a few inches down from Hermione's hand. Harry felt an odd sort of itching sensation in his ears, almost as though someone were whispering something that he could not quite hear. His eyes burned and watered, but he did not dare blink, just in case he missed something. Part of him wanted to just reach out and grab the locket, to slip it on over his head, but his limbs would not move.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Hermione shook her head and slowly lowered the locket back into the drawer, breaking the spell. "I'll keep looking," she said in a soft voice. When she turned to them again, she looked sullen and tired, her arms crossed over her chest. "In the meantime, Harry, I think you should ask Lupin to teach you Occlumency."

"What?" Harry's heart hammered in his chest as he struggled to keep panic from showing on his face. "I don't—"

"Our best hope is to keep Voldemort from finding out that we know about the Horcruxes for as long as possible. If he's reading your mind, we need to put a stop to it right away."

"But what if Lupin reads my mind and finds out about them?" Harry asked, grasping at straws.

"We already know we can trust him. Please, Harry."

Harry glanced at Ron, but he just shrugged and mumbled, "Wouldn't hurt to ask."

Harry had a million excuses buzzing around his head, but he could not voice a single one of them. Feeling their eyes boring into him, he looked off toward the wall. It was bad enough that Lupin already seemed to know what happened between him and Malfoy. He could just see their reactions: Ron's face contorted in horror, Hermione trying to tell him that it did not matter, even as her own expression betrayed her disgust.

Harry felt movement on the bed next to him and a hand rested lightly on his arm. "We're worried about you," Hermione said. "You're not acting like yourself."

"I'm fine," he muttered.

"You keep saying that, mate," Ron said, "but—"

"Then lay off!" Harry snapped, and Hermione withdrew her own hand at once, as though he had bitten her. He seized the opportunity and stood up, making a beeline for the door. He heard Ron start to say his name, but he slammed the door shut with a loud bang.

Harry heard a startled shriek and turned to see Parvati several feet down the hall with her hand braced against the wall, looking around wildly. His anger was still bubbling inside him, but he reminded himself that he was not mad at her. "Sorry, that was me."

"Harry?" Parvati started toward him, feeling her way along the wall and brushing her hand over the doorknob of each room she passed. When she reached him, she crinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"

Harry, who had gotten used to the lavender by now, glanced back at the room. "Oh, Hermione's just making a potion," he said. He stepped aside as she closed in on him, stopping in front of what was now the door to her and Hermione's room.

"Oh okay," she said. "Well, I guess I'll see—I mean..." She gave a nervous laugh. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah." Harry waited until she had disappeared into the room and then set off down the hall. He wanted to find a place to be alone, but he did not know which rooms were occupied and which were not.

As he reached the second floor, he paused in front of his door, his anger building up in his veins. Illogical though it was, he wanted to burst in there and yell at Lupin, to blame everything that was happening on him. The remains of his self control, however, were strong enough to hold him back, and he turned to the other side of the hall, heading for a room that he knew would be empty and unlocked.

Ron's room, just as every other room in the house, felt uninhabited and impersonal, though Harry had not noticed it when he had been there with the other two. An open trunk in the corner with its contents spilling over onto the floor and an unmade bed were the only things that even hinted at someone staying there.

Harry locked the door and crossed to the window. With some effort, he managed to pry it open about two inches, but it would not budge any further. Grabbing the chair from the desk, he sat down and closed his eyes, letting the slight breeze play over his face, taking the edge off his temper. He sighed. It seemed an eternity since he had last set foot outside. With everything that was going on, he had not even thought about it, but an intense desire threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to leave this stuffy old house, to get away from the Horcruxes and the dreams and Malfoy.

The thought of Malfoy sent a small, involuntary wave of pity through Harry. Malfoy had not been outside since the day Hermione brought him to the Dursleys. It was almost certain now that he would not try to run away if they did let him out for a bit, but even with the Invisibility Cloak back, taking him out of the room was too risky. Some Order members might be sympathetic enough to keep him a secret, but if just one wrong person found out, then he was as good as dead.

When Harry finally opened his eyes, he saw a reflection in the window of something sticking out from under Ron's bed. It was the cabinet that Dumbledore had left him. He had forgotten about it completely in the last couple days. He got up and went to retrieve it, tapping it with his wand and muttering the counter spell to unshrink it.

The Pensieve and the one visible box sat on the shelves inside just as they had left them. Harry reached back behind the Pensieve and withdrew the parchment scroll, unfurling it onto the floor. He was not sure what he was looking for, but he scanned the names anyway, waiting for one to jump out at him.

Then, his eyes fell on the name "Remus John Lupin." He had passed over the names of his father and Sirius, but this one made him pause. He wanted to look into those memories. As petty as it was, he wanted to find out something personal about Lupin. Something that Lupin did not want him to know. It occurred to him that the chances of such a thing existing in Dumbledore's memories were low, but there was a chance.

So, Harry moved in front of the cabinet again. "Remus John Lupin." He pulled out the wooden box, wiping the dust off the top to make sure the initials matched up. Then he opened it, preparing himself for the usual eye strain caused by looking into a magically expanded box.

But it did not come. There were about fifteen little vials in the box, not enough for it to need an expansion spell. A little disappointed, Harry started looking at the dates on the vials. Almost all of them were from just a couple of years previous and had a dozen other initials on them. Harry guessed that these were memories of Order meetings. There were also two from several years earlier, one with McGonagall's initials and the other with two unfamiliar sets of initials. Harry checked those initials on the scroll, however, and saw that they belonged to a man and a woman with the last name Lupin. His parents, undoubtedly. Harry did some math in his head and reasoned that these were probably from his first year at Hogwarts.

Then, he drew out another bottle, which was dated five years after the last one. It was another one where Lupin was not alone, containing the initials S.C.S. He went back to check the list and nearly dropped the vial.

Severus Caleb Snape.

Harry glared at the parchment, his anger building again. He realized at once that he was being irrational. There were plenty of other Death Eater names on the scroll. Even Tom Riddle was on it.

Through the anger, Harry also felt curiosity. Why would Dumbledore have a memory that was just with Snape and Lupin?

Harry put his hands on either side of the Pensieve and lifted it off the shelf, carefully carrying it over to the desk. He uncorked the vial and dumped the memory inside, watching the silvery strands fill the basin and begin to swirl. Taking a deep breath, he plunged his face inside, feeling himself pitch forward and falling through darkness.

His feet hit the floor and he found himself standing in Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore looked just as Harry remembered him, except that his hand had not yet been damaged by the Horcrux yet. He currently sat at his desk, fiddling with one of the silver instruments that were displayed in his office. He prodded it with his wand, frowning when a puff of green smoke billowed out.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," he said, setting aside the strange contraption and folding his hands.

Professor McGonagall stepped in. "I'm sorry to intrude, Albus," she said. "There is a disciplinary manner that needs to be addressed."

"Surely you can handle it, Minerva," Dumbledore said.

"You told me to bring anything concerning Remus Lupin to you. He's been in a fight with Severus Snape."

"Ah, yes." He nodded as though unsurprised. "Send them in."

McGonagall left and, a few minutes later, a young Snape walked in, followed by Lupin. They stood on opposite sides of the office, Snape glaring at Lupin, who only stared at his feet. Both were sporting nasty bruises on their faces, and Snape seemed to be recovering from a nosebleed.

Dumbledore waved his hand at two chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat. Professor McGonagall tells me you were fighting."

"He attacked me!" Snape said, pointing at Lupin. "I was just walking to class and—"

"He's lying!" Lupin said. looking up. "He—"

Dumbledore held up a hand, silencing them both. "As you know, Muggle dueling is strictly forbidden. You will both serve a detention, to be set by your Heads of House."

Lupin nodded, but Snape still looked outraged. "Why are we even up here? Just because he's a—"

"That's enough, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore said firmly. "I will speak to Professor Slughorn about this. Please return to your class."

Snape narrowed his eyes, but stalked out of the office without another word. Lupin made no move to follow, continuing to stare at the floor.

"I don't need to remind you, Mr. Lupin," Dumbledore said after a moment of silence, "that after the events of last month, you and your friends agreed not to further antagonize Mr. Snape."

"He was insulting Sirius, Professor," Lupin said in a small voice.

"A fairly regular occurrence, I'm sure. What made this time different?"

Dumbledore's words were kind, but Lupin visibly flinched as though he had yelled. He looked terrified.

"Words can only hurt us if we allow them to," Dumbledore said when it was clear that Lupin was not going to answer. "I don't want to hear that you've been fighting again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." Lupin's voice was barely intelligible.

Dumbledore nodded. "Professor McGonagall will contact you about your detention. You may go."

Harry watched Lupin leave. Then, trying to remember what Hermione had said about how to get out of the Pensieve, jumped backwards. He felt himself soar up through the air, leaving the office behind and landing back in Ron's room.

Harry just stood for a moment, staring at the Pensieve. That memory seemed worthless. He had not learned a single thing about Lupin, except that he had once gotten into a fist fight with Snape. He wondered why Dumbledore had given it to him.

In fact, faced with this massive list of names, Harry was starting to wonder why Dumbledore had even bothered leaving him the Pensieve at all. It would take years to go through every single one of these memories, and if they were all as useless as this one, it would be a waste of time. Did Dumbledore honestly think that this would be helpful?

There was a sudden rattling noise from the door, jolting Harry out of his thoughts. "Hey!" Ron's voice called, and he pounded on the door. "Whoever's in there, open up!"

Harry shook himself and went to open the door.

"Oh," Ron said, "sorry, mate. What're you doing in here?"

Harry shrugged. "Needed some time alone," he said shortly, stepping out into the hall.

"Oh. Well, it's almost time for lunch." Ron's attention turned to the desk. "Why's the Pensieve out?"

But Harry was already halfway down the hall. He had no desire to tell Ron about what he had seen, even though it seemed so worthless. He did not want to face the questions of why he had gone into a memory about Lupin in the first place. In retrospect, he knew he probably should not have done it.

Harry did not speak to Ron or Hermione through lunch. He kept his eyes firmly focused on his plate, trying to ignore their whispered conversation and frequent glances at him. He finished his food quickly and excused himself from the table. Knowing better than to go to Ron's room again, Harry headed up to the room where he had found himself after the incident in the library. He saw that someone had moved their things into the room now, and an extra bed was set up where a table had been before. Not wanting to be there when that someone returned, Harry retrieved the Occlumency book and left the room, retreating instead to a drawing room down the hall, which looked blissfully uninhabited.

Harry started to read the book again. He wanted it to make sense. He wanted to have a sudden inspiration that would save him from having to take lessons from Lupin. Unfortunately, the book was just as unhelpful as ever, with its talk of mazes and reshaping memories.

Then, as Harry started downstairs for dinner that night, he was met by an extremely tired and edgy looking Lupin. "Oh, there you are, Harry," he said. "I've repaired his mind as much as I could. Some memories do appear to have been wiped completely, but I think I've managed to recover enough for us to work with. We should administer the Veritaserum right away."

Slightly taken aback, Harry nodded mutely, following Lupin back to his room.

"Don't you want to fetch Ron and Hermione?" Lupin asked.

"They're probably already at dinner. It'll look strange if we're all missing." Truthfully, Harry did not want them there, just in case Lupin slipped up with one of his questions.

Lupin gave him an odd look, but nodded. "It may actually be easier with fewer people in the room." With that, he pushed the door open.

Malfoy was propped up against the headboard again, unconscious with his chin resting against his chest. He looked a little paler than usual, but he was otherwise unchanged.

"We'll wake him up after giving him the potion," Lupin said, pulling a vial of the clear liquid from his pocket as he approached the bed. "That way he won't have a chance to build up a mental defense to it."

Harry silently made his way to the other side of the room and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. He felt like he was standing guard, as though he were the only one keeping Lupin true to his word that this was purely business.

Lupin administered the potion and then waved his wand. Malfoy's eyes opened and he lifted his head, staring blankly at the wall opposite him.

"What is your name?" Lupin asked, sitting down.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy." Malfoy replied in a passive voice.

"Can you name the other two people in this room?"

"Remus Lupin and Harry Potter."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

Lupin nodded, hesitating for a moment. "Do you remember the questions I asked you last night?"

"Yes."

"I asked you if you were staying with Snape before you ran away. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"And were you?"

"Yes."

Another pause, in which Lupin took a deep breath. "Where were you staying?"

Malfoy's face scrunched slightly, and, for one terrifying moment, Harry thought he might start convulsing again. Finally though, he began to speak in a slow, halting voice. "A brick house. There were a lot more like it around. He kept me in a room in the attic."

"Do you remember where this house was?" Lupin asked.

Malfoy was really concentrating now, as though trying to remember something he had forgotten years ago. "A Muggle town. The street was called Spinner's...something."

"Is there anything else you can remember?"

"We had to cross a river to get there."

"Last night, you said that you Apparated to a village two miles away. Do you remember what that village was called?"

"No."

"Is there anything you remember about it?"

"There was a little shop just off the town's square. Abel's Apothecary, I think. I hid in an alley behind it for a couple days."

Lupin nodded to himself and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes momentarily. He looked as though he were stealing himself up for something. Finally, he leaned forward again. "Do you remember someone putting a Memory Charm on you?"

Malfoy hesitated. Little beads of sweat were starting to appear on his forehead. "Yes."

"Who did it?"

"An old wizard. I don't know his name."

"Did this happen before or after you ran away?"

"Before."

"Did Snape know about it?"

"Yes, he was there."

"Was this the first time you had seen the old wizard?"

"No. He came to the house a few times to talk to Snape."

"What did they talk about?"

"I don't know. They were always looking at maps. I think they mentioned Hogwarts a few times and...something about a delivery."

"What about the old man? What do you remember about him?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Tall, gray hair, beard, glasses..." He wrinkled his nose. "He smelled funny."

Harry's heart leapt in his chest. "What did he smell like?" he asked, not noticing the sudden look of warning that Lupin gave him.

Malfoy gave a start at the new voice, but answered anyway. "He smelled like..." He closed his eyes for a moment, sniffing the air as though to catch a phantom scent. "Like goats."

Harry felt his blood run cold as his hands closed into fists. Hardly aware of what he was doing, he stalked across the room toward the door, ignoring Lupin's call for him to stop.

Ron was sitting out in the hall waiting for him, a tray carrying a plate of cold chicken sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice beside him."I brought... what's wrong?"

"Aberforth Dumbledore is a Death Eater," Harry growled

"Wait...what?" Ron leapt to his feet. "Who's a—?"

"Shh!" Lupin motioned for them to quiet down. "Do you want to alert the whole house? Get in here!" He waved them back into Harry's room, waving his wand at the door before turning his back to it, as though guarding in case Harry tried to run out again.

"We have to tell the Order," Harry said, pacing the room. "He lives in Hogsmeade, maybe if we contact Professor McGonagall—"

"Harry, stop," Lupin said. "Aberforth has been doing undercover work for the Order since it was formed. It is possible that he was following orders."

"That's what everyone said about Snape, and look what happened!"

"Harry—"

But Harry had resumed his pacing. "They were talking about Hogwarts. I bet you they're planning another attack."

"I still don't know what's going on," Ron said.

"That makes two of us."

All three of them jumped and turned to the bed. Malfoy was looking over at them with half-closed eyes. If possible, he looked even more exhausted than Lupin.

"The potion's worn off," Lupin said. He turned his attention on Harry. "I'll pass the information along as an anonymous tip and let you know how it goes. Until then, don't say a word to anyone." He left before anyone could object.

"What's going on?" Ron asked.

Malfoy let out a little groan and pressed a hand to his forehead. "Ow. Did someone hit me?"

Ron shot him a scathing look. "Not yet. Harry, what...what's wrong?"

Harry had just leaned back against the wall, his vision swimming from a sudden lightheadedness. "Nothing." He glanced up to see Ron looking at him with concern. Even Malfoy had paused in his own self pity to look in his direction. "Sorry I missed dinner."

Ron nodded. "I told Mum you were sick. As often as we use that excuse, she probably thinks we're all on our death beds." He reached into his pocket and drew out a vial of the glowing green potion for his lungs. "She said to bring this for you. And there's food out in the hall. I managed to grab an extra glass for _him_." He jerked his head at Malfoy.

"I'm speechless," Malfoy muttered darkly.

"Shut up," Harry said, beating Ron to the punch. "Look, I'll tell you and Hermione what happened in the morning."

"Okay," Ron said hesitantly. "I'll see you, then." He glared at Malfoy again and left.

Harry waited to give Ron time to get back to his room and then went out into the hall to retrieve the food. When he got back, Malfoy was leaning against the headboard, examining his fingernails.

"So," Malfoy said conversationally, "I don't suppose you're going to tell me why I've been unconscious all day."

"Lupin needed to finish questioning you," Harry said, setting the tray on the bedside table and sitting in the desk chair. He was not hungry, just incredibly tired.

Malfoy, though he had not eaten for a while, made no move for the food either. "It took him all day today and yesterday. Needed my full life story, did he?"

"Something like that." Harry longed to tell Malfoy to shut up again, but he had already seen how helpful that was.

Malfoy hunched forward, his fingers pressed against his temples. "He's been poking around in my head."

Harry looked up, his exhaustion temporarily forgotten. "How do you know that?"

"Because I'm remembering things that I shouldn't. You wouldn't happen to know who erased my memory, would you?"

Harry searched his mind for some reason for why he should not tell Malfoy, but he drew a blank. In fact, he wondered if maybe he could get some more information out of him. "Aberforth Dumbledore."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, as though waiting for him to say that he was just joking. Then, he gave a dry laugh. "Aberforth..._Dumbledore_?"

"So, you don't know if he's a Death Eater?" Harry asked.

"Never heard of him," Malfoy said, still chuckling under his breath.

Crestfallen, Harry slumped in his chair again.

"You look frustrated, Potter," Malfoy commented. "Do you want some help with that?"

"Shut up."

He laughed again and moved to pour himself a glass of pumpkin juice. "Your extensive vocabulary astounds me. Have it your way, then." He grabbed a couple sandwiches from the stack and carried his meager dinner back to his corner.

Harry waited, certain that Malfoy was going to insult him some more. His bed was too inviting, however, so after a few moments, he went over to it, collapsing on top of the sheets. At the last moment, he remembered the little bottle of potion in his pocket, so he grudgingly sat up, downing the contents. Too tired to even think about the searing pain spreading down his throat, he lay back again, falling asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

Harry woke up with an odd feeling in his head, as though his brain was twitching, his scar burning dully. His chest also ached slightly from the potion. It was still dark; he had only been asleep for a couple of hours. Through his initial haze, he could not figure out what had woken him. Then, he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye and instantly stiffened.

"Shh." Malfoy's face came into focus. He was sitting on the bed beside Harry. The thing that had woken Harry was Malfoy's fingers tugging at his belt buckle.

Harry tried to propel himself away, but his reflexes were slowed by his exhaustion, and Malfoy was too quick for him. Malfoy immediately seized Harry's wrist in one hand, slowing his getaway, and plunged his other hand down the front of Harry's trousers.

Harry's breath hitched in his chest, and he stopped trying to pull away. Malfoy took the opportunity to finish undoing Harry's trousers, creating so much friction that Harry started to squirm. Then, the movement stopped, just the lightest of touches lingering on his skin, and Harry felt a tug on his wrist. Malfoy lifted Harry's hand up, guiding it a short distance. Just as Harry was starting to regain his senses, he felt his hand close around warm skin. He slowly turned his head to look, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sure enough, he saw his own hand outstretched toward Malfoy, who, while Harry was distracted, had also undone his own pants. Harry tried to withdraw his hand, but Malfoy still had a tight grip on his wrist. He tried to reach around with his free hand to fight, but the moment he began to lift his arm, the fingers of Malfoy's other hand tightened none-too-gently around sensitive skin, causing his back to arch.

"Don't think too hard about it, Potter," Malfoy said. With his left hand, he gently guided Harry's hand in a slow, rhythmic pattern, imitating the movement with his right. "Just go with it."

As Malfoy's hands began to move faster, Harry's breath quickened, and he found it increasingly hard to form a coherent thought. Soon, Malfoy's left hand had lifted from his own, but Harry hardly noticed. The other hand was still mimicking Harry's every move, slowing and speeding up with him. A primitive part of Harry's brain had taken hold, keeping him moving. Every nerve ending in his body was on fire, and he knew the moment he stopped, the pleasure would stop, too. His mind reduced to the simplest of thoughts, he did not even notice that his scar was starting to burn with increasing intensity.

Finally, he felt a great rush and a groan escaped his lips. Even as the feeling dissipated, he continued to move his hand, and soon he heard a similar sound from his right. Something hot spilled over his fingers and he immediately dropped his arm, all of his muscles still tensed. He was only vaguely aware of Malfoy's continued movement out of the corner of his eye, as his mind struggled for coherency.

Before he could even think, however, he felt a different type of rush entirely, a leaping sensation in the pit of his stomach. Laughter echoed in his ears, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaked down his cheeks. Behind his eyelids, he saw sporadic, shadowy images: bookshelves, a fireplace, a monstrous snake curled at his bare, ghostly white feet. Distantly, his scar seared.

"Potter? _Potter!_" Harry felt hands clasp his shoulders, shaking him. He had the familiar sensation of a piece of his brain being ripped out, and suddenly he was back. The laughter died in his throat, and he sat bolt upright, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Malfoy stared at him with wide eyes, as though afraid that Harry might attack him.

The idea was tempting, but Harry refrained. "Nothing," he muttered, falling onto his back again and swallowing several times in an attempt to keep from vomiting.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Nothing? I think it's time to put in that call to St. Mungo's. You're off your rocker!"

But Harry hardly heard him anymore, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to calm his stomach. His entire body simultaneously burned hot and cold, and he was still shaking. There was no question about it now. Voldemort was reading his thoughts. Harry struggled to recall what had made Voldemort happy this time, but as he did so, his insides seemed to dissolve into liquid, and an icy dread spread through him.

It was not happiness he had felt. It was amusement. Voldemort had found out something that entertained him so much, he had alerted Harry to his presence. And, the more Harry thought about it, the more certain he became about what that something was.

It seemed Lupin was not the only one who knew about him and Malfoy anymore.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: Horcruxes, books, and an unwelcome visitor. Hermione's mood takes a dramatic turn, Ron makes a smart ass comment, and the Weasley family receives devastating news. I'll try to post again next weekend, but no promises.


	15. Chapter 15: A Handsome Prize

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I got a kick out of all the comments on Voldemort. Here's another chapter of about average length. Enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 15: A Handsome Prize

In spite of everything that had happened, Harry had a more restful sleep that night than he had had in a week. When he awoke, his head seemed oddly disconnected from his body, but otherwise, he felt fine.

As he tried to stretch, however, his arm connected with something solid. He looked over and saw Malfoy fast asleep beside him, facing toward the wall. The events of the previous night came back to Harry in a rush, and a wave of nausea overtook him. Getting out of bed, Harry stumbled toward the bathroom. He just managed to make it to the toilet as his knees buckled and he heaved.

When his stomach finally calmed down, he sat back on his heels, wiping sweat from his forehead. How could he have not noticed that Voldemort was in his mind? He should have been paying more attention, should have noticed when his scar started to burn. He should not have let Malfoy do this to him in the first place.

The thought of Malfoy sent another wave of dread through him. Just how deeply had Voldemort penetrated his mind? Did he just know what Harry was doing, or did he also know who it was with? Did he know now that Harry was the one hiding Malfoy?

A sharp knock on the bathroom door brought Harry's mind swiftly back to reality. "Potter," Malfoy's muffled voice called, "someone's at the door."

Harry sighed and staggered to his feet, grabbing onto the counter to steady himself. When he stepped out into the room, Malfoy gave him just the briefest glance before retreating into the bathroom himself. Steeling himself up, Harry went to open the door.

"You look like hell," Ron said the moment he saw Harry.

"Good morning to you, too," Harry said dryly. "What're you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? It's almost ten o'clock. Mum's about ten seconds away from checking us all into St. Mungo's."

"What? Why?"

"Because we keep using the same excuse every time one of us misses a meal, that's why."

"Okay, just give me a minute," Harry shut the door and went to his trunk, hurriedly changing his clothes. On his way to the door, he grabbed the tray that Ron had used to carry his dinner up the previous night to bring it back downstairs.

The kitchen was almost empty by the time they arrived, save for Mrs. Weasley and Hermione. Mrs. Weasley fussed over Harry, watching him like a hawk while he took the potion for his lungs and scooping extra helpings of eggs and bacon onto his plate whenever he looked in danger of running out. She paid nearly as much attention to Hermione, who had not lifted her eyes once from her plate. Her face was tinged green and she looked as though she was fighting the urge to vomit. This was such a stark contrast to her good mood the previous day. Harry exchanged a bewildered look with Ron. It was no wonder Mrs. Weasley thought they were all ill.

"You two still look a bit peaky," she said, bustling over to Hermione and feeling her forehead. "I don't want you overexerting yourselves today."

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry said. He had been trying to think of the least suspicious way to ask, but he needed to know. "Do you know where Lupin is?"

"He's giving testimony at the Ministry today," Mrs. Weasley replied, grabbing his wrist briefly to check his pulse. "He should return this evening."

"Did he say anything before he left?"

"No, he was very quiet. He asked Dedalus to take over bringing around breakfast and lunch for him today. Said he had an important letter to send to Professor McGonagall straight away. Come to think of it, he seemed a mite ill himself. I do hope it's not contagious."

Harry excused himself from the table then, mostly to get away from Mrs. Weasley's incessant mothering. She looked disappointed that he had not finished clearing all the food from his plate, but his stomach was already protesting that he had eaten too much. Ron shoveled the rest of his eggs into his mouth and rushed out the door as well. Hermione followed very slowly behind them.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked her when they had reached the first floor,

Hermione shrugged. "Just a little tired. I didn't sleep well last...night..." She yawned.

"Did you finish the Lost and Found Potion?" Ron asked. "Is there another Horcrux in the house?"

Hermione took a deep breath, her cheeks turning pink, and she nodded. "I'll have to check the map again to confirm the location, but yeah, there is."

"Great," Ron said, grinning. "So, we'll track this one down, and we'll only have two to go? And the snake's an easy one, because we know where that one is."

Hermione looked anything but enthused about all of this. In fact, she looked as though she were on the verge of tears.

But Harry had other, much more pressing things on his mind. Unfortunately, he could only talk about one of them. "Listen, I've got something to tell you. Lupin finished up removing the Memory Charm and questioned Malfoy again." He gave a brief recounting of the new information.

"Aberforth's been meeting with Snape?" Hermione seemed to finally snap out of her daze. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Harry said. "I'll just bet you they're planning something. I mean, Aberforth has connections. He could be helping to organize an attack."

"Well...I don't think we should get carried away just yet," Hermione said. "I mean, Lupin might be right. He could just be doing undercover work for the Order."

"That's what we thought about Snape," Ron pointed out, "and look what happened."

"But this is Dumbledore's brother."

"So what?" Harry said. "I mean, you saw him. He even asked if there were any leads on Snape and Malfoy. He must've been trying to see if they're tracks were covered."

"I'll bet he's been working with them all along," Ron said. "He probably helped set up the attack last year."

"Look," Hermione said, "I admit, it's suspicious, but we really don't know enough yet. And you heard your mum, Lupin's sending a letter to McGonagall today. I say we just wait and see what happens. There's really nothing else we can do about it."

Harry was forced to admit that she was right, so he sighed. "We should probably try to hunt down that Horcrux then. Where are the blueprints?"

"Oh," She looked flustered again, "they're in my room. I'll go check them." She hurried back down the hall, disappearing into her room.

"What's wrong with her?" Harry muttered.

"No idea," Ron said. "She seemed fine at dinner last night. Quiet, sure, but not like this."

It was quite a long while before Hermione returned. When she did, she seemed even more harried than before. "I've got it," she said.

She led the way up to the third floor and down the hall, counting off the doors in a low mutter. She finally stopped in front of the fifth one.

"Are you sure this is it?" Harry asked.

"Positive. We'd better knock." She reached up and rapped lightly on the door.

There was a sudden scrambling noise inside, and a muffled voice spoke something in a foreign language. Several moments passed until finally the door sprang open, and Ivan Petrov appeared in the doorway, sporting a rather nasty set of scratches on his arm.

"Oh, hello," he said. Over his shoulder, they could see his sister Anya crouched in the corner, wringing her hands. "Sorry to make you wait. I've been trying to explain to Anya that civilized folks change their clothes more than once a month." He shot at Anya over his shoulder, and she bared her teeth at him. "What brings you up here?"

"Well," Hermione said, "we're sort of looking for something. We don't know exactly what it is, but we know it's in this room."

Ivan sighed. "Is this about that cup Anya stole? I knew you'd be coming for it eventually."

"Cup?" Harry asked. "What does it look like?"

"I don't know. She never let me get a good look at it. Hang on." He turned to Anya and asked her something in Russian. She gave him a rapid fire reply, clenching her fists. He sighed. "I'm sorry. This is not one of her better days. Maybe if you come back later—"

"Look!" Ron pointed. Anya, who seemed to have thought they were not paying attention to her, had crawled forward toward her bed. She immediately threw herself back into her corner then, hugging a golden cup tightly to her chest and glaring at them.

Ivan strode over immediately, holding his hand out and speaking to her again. She growled back, holding onto her prize like grim death. They argued back and forth for a few minutes, voices steadily raising until they were both almost shouting. Finally, Ivan sighed, taking a step back.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "She keeps saying it's hers, that she found it. I don't have a wand, could one of you try summoning it or something?"

Hermione nodded and waved her wand. "_Accio cup!" _The cup jumped slightly but Anya held on, tightening her arms around it. "It must have enchantments to prevent summoning," she muttered under her breath to Ron and Harry. Then, she raised her voice to address Ivan. "We could knock her out. If that's all right with you, of course."

Ivan hesitated, but finally nodded. "Just don't hurt her. She can't really help that she's like this." 

Hermione smiled and waved her wand again. "_Stupefy_." Anya slumped to one side, her arms slackening until the cup rolled onto the floor. Ivan hurried forward to retrieve it.

"_Rennervate_," Hermione said as soon as Ivan was at a safe distance. Anya pushed herself up with her arms, looking around in confusion. "Thanks."

"Yeah," Ivan said vaguely. He made no move to give them the cup, staring at it instead and running his hand gently over the badger engraving.

"Ivan?" Harry said.

Ivan shook his head slightly. "Sorry," he muttered, holding the cup out to Hermione. "You should hide it somewhere. I wouldn't put it past her to try to steal it again."

Hermione took the cup in both hands. Ivan held on for another few moments, seeming reluctant to let go. Finally, he released his grip and took a few steps back, looking slightly dazed.

"Thanks," Hermione said. She stepped back out of the room before Ivan could respond. Harry gave Ivan a thankful smile, but the boy just nodded curtly and turned back to tend to his sister.

"That girl's mental," Ron said as they started back down the hall. "Why did Lupin even bring her here?"

Harry shrugged. "Ivan seems all right."

"Did you see him trying to hang onto the cup though? Bit dodgy, if you ask me. Hermione, what do you...oi, Hermione!"

Hermione, who had stopped several paces back, looked up as though she had just noticed them. "Oh, sorry," she said, tucking the cup under her arm and hurrying to catch up.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, eyeing the feverish tinge in her cheeks.

"I'm fine," she said dismissively. "I should probably start my research again. Finding these things won't do us any good if we can't figure out how to destroy them."

"We'll help you look," Harry said. Ron looked a bit put out that he had been included in this offer, but Harry ignored it. He needed something to keep his mind occupied, even if it meant another fruitless search for books on Horcruxes.

Hermione seemed just as surprised. "Oh...okay. Just let me go put the cup somewhere safe, and I'll meet you in the library." She took a few steps down the hall and, as an afterthought, turned back. "Use that Dust Repelling Charm I taught you. Oh, and use a Bubble-Head Charm, too. Especially you, Harry." Once they had both promised to do just that, she continued on her way.

"She sounds like Mum," Ron muttered once she was out of hearing range. He and Harry started back in the other direction.

"Your mum would have a fit if she knew I was going back in the library," Harry pointed out. "Hermione is acting weird though."

"Yeah." Ron glanced back down the hall, as though afraid she might be following them. "She's working herself too hard on this Horcrux thing. I think she might be cracking up."

_She's not the only one,_ Harry thought to himself.

By the time Hermione joined them again, Harry and Ron had already cast their charms and picked their way across the library. She made a beeline for Harry to check to make sure he had cast his Bubble-Head Charm properly, and then started directing them on which bookshelves she had not searched yet.

"Right now, I think we need to focus on sorting out the mechanics of the Horcruxes," she said, her voice echoing slightly in her bubble. "I doubt we'll find anything specific on how to destroy them, but maybe we can find our own way."

"So, what are we looking for then?" Harry asked, flipping open a book with a giant squid on the front. After a few moments of squinting, however, he realized that it was written in a strange language with no vowels.

"I have absolutely no idea. We'll brainstorm. If you think of something while you're reading, anything, just say it out loud. Even if it seems stupid."

"Let's chuck Dungbombs at them and see what happens," Ron said, turning the book in his hands sideways and raising an eyebrow at it.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Strike that last. If you think of something remotely _plausible_, say it out loud."

Ron grinned, tossing aside the book and picking up another. "Just trying to help."

As the search continued, they lapsed into silence. They took breaks for lunch and dinner, during which Harry and Hermione were again fawned over by Mrs. Weasley, and then they were back to their research. Harry threw himself headlong into the reading, determined to keep from thinking about Malfoy, Voldemort, or Occlumency. Unfortunately, book after book offered up no ideas, and he soon found his mind drifting away from _The Hermit's Guide to Sorcery_ to think about more unpleasant things. He found himself wishing that time would stop and he could spend the rest of eternity in this library, away from all of his problems and frustrations.

"I think we should stop for the day," Hermione said all too soon. She closed her book and tucked it under her arm along with three others. "You two should get some sleep."

Ron exchanged a quick look with Harry and moved over to talk with Hermione. Taking the hint, Harry reluctantly put his book down and headed out the door, thinking maybe he could go find somewhere quiet to spend an hour or so before heading back to his room.

No sooner had he popped the bubble around his head, however, than Lupin appeared on the landing of the stairs. Though he was just as disheveled as ever and covered in soot, he seemed more rested than the last time Harry had seen him. "Harry, there you are," he said. "Sorry I've been gone all day. I didn't expect the trial to last that long."

"Did the Ministry catch another Death Eater?" Harry asked.

"No, but I'm afraid that's not what you'll read in the Prophet tomorrow. There was a werewolf attack in southern Bristol during the last full moon, and the Ministry would rather pin it on an innocent man than admit that they still haven't caught Greyback."

"So, you testified in his defense?"

Lupin nodded. "I've known Liam Kendall for several years. He's never so much as bought a black market cauldron. Unfortunately, the Wizengamot wasn't particularly receptive to my testimony." He sighed. "But there's nothing to be done for him now. I daresay we have more pressing matters to discuss."

Surprised that he had momentarily forgotten why he needed to talk to Lupin, Harry spoke again at once. "Mrs. Weasley said you were sending a letter to McGonagall this morning."

"I sent the anonymous tip to the Ministry last night," Lupin said. "I waited until morning to write the letter so Minerva would think that I had just heard the rumors."

"Have you heard back yet?"

"No, but that's irrelevant now. The Ministry sent a team of Aurors to investigate Aberforth early this afternoon, but they can't find hide nor hair of him. Someone must have tipped him off. At any rate, they aren't too concerned with finding him."

"So, that's it then?"

"Not quite. I couldn't find out much about Snape, but I overheard someone say that the Aurors have narrowed down a possible location based on the tip. I imagine if anything comes of it, Kingsley will report to the Order within the next few days. Until then, if anyone talks to you about it, you'd best pretend you don't know anything. I'll let you know if I hear anything else."

"Thanks."

"I should go. Dedalus took over passing out meals today, so I'll be needing to make a special delivery to your...guest." He patted Harry on the shoulder and started down the hall.

It was now or never. Harry took a deep breath. "Wait. I...I need to ask you something."

Lupin turned back immediately. "Yes?"

"I was wondering...would you teach me Occlumency?"

"Has your scar been hurting again?"

"No," Harry said quickly. The last thing he needed was for the whole Order to find out about this. "I just thought it might be a good idea. You know, just in case."

A look of relief crossed Lupin's face, but he gazed back at Harry with a slightly piteous expression. "I'm flattered you asked," he said, "but I'm afraid I can't help you."

"I know you're really busy, but—"

"My Legilimency skills are negligible at best. I can only penetrate the mind in a relaxed state. I'm hardly qualified to teach you. I can put in a word with the Order if you want. I'm sure Alastor would be willing to do it."

"No, that's okay." Harry suppressed a shudder.

Lupin nodded his understanding. "I should go. Take care of yourself, Harry."

Not wanting to bother Ron and Hermione or go back to his room just yet, Harry headed upstairs, hoping to be able to read his Occlumency book in peace. Unfortunately, when he reached the drawing room he had left it in, he found that it was already occupied by two witches he did not recognize. They let him come in to get his book and asked if he wanted to join their game of Exploding Snap. Harry declined, deciding to go down to the kitchen. At least there he would not feel as though he were intruding on anyone.

There was no need to worry, as the kitchen was empty when he got there, though the embers from the fire had not quite died down yet. An old copy of the Daily Prophet lay on the table, announcing that yet another nameless family had been attacked, but he left it be. As it was, he could probably get more information from interrogating the wall than reading the newspaper anymore. He pulled out the nearest chair and sat down, flipping the book open and trying desperately to make sense of it.

An hour later, however, all he had managed to do was give himself a massive headache. This was ridiculous. He would never be able to teach himself Occlumency. Even if he managed to learn the concept, he had no way of practicing. Meanwhile, his mind was left completely vulnerable, open to attack at any time.

Suddenly, Harry saw something out of the corner of his eye and leapt out of his chair, turning just in time to see a head, face obscured by a hood, disappear from the fireplace. His heart hammering in his chest, he stared at the softly glowing embers, but the head did not return. He tried to convince himself that his eyes were just playing tricks on him. After all, the house was still protected by the Fidelius Charm.

Except the Charm would not keep out Snape or Aberforth. Harry strained his memory, trying to recall if he had seen a glimpse of greasy black hair or a white beard, but all he remembered was a black hood. Even that had gone by so fast he could not be certain he had seen it at all.

He shook his head and turned back to the book. He was just imagining things. If Snape or Aberforth were going to try to break into Grimmauld Place, they would have already. Harry knew he should probably go to his room and get some sleep, but the thought of facing Malfoy or, worse, having Voldemort invade his mind again, kept him rooted to the spot. He clutched his head in his hands, forcing himself to keep reading. He was determined to make some headway that night, even if that meant just finishing the chapter without understanding it. Unfortunately, Harry could not resist sleep for long, and soon his eyelids were drooping.

-

Harry's neck was killing him and his glasses were pressed against the side of his face as he slept on his folded arms. He had fallen asleep with the Occlumency book in his lap, propped up against the kitchen table, and the top edge was now digging into chest. His mind felt hazy and distant, though at least his scar was not burning.

A rustling of papers, the sound which had woken him in the first place, drew Harry sharply from his daze, his heart leaping into his throat. Trying to move as little as possible, he squinted around the room. A ray of light caught his eye, and, blinking several times, he tried to make out what was going on.

An old man in a shabby, dark gray cloak, was bent low over a cabinet, rummaging through the top drawer with one hand while holding his wand aloft. Harry could not see his face, but a distinct smell of goats told him exactly who it was.

Keeping his head down, Harry slowly withdrew his hand from the table, reaching back for his wand. His fingers closed around it, but as he shifted to draw it, the book slipped from his lap hitting the floor with a thud.

He leapt from his chair, wand clutched tightly in his hand, but Aberforth had already waved his. A jet of red light hit Harry squarely in the chest, sending a cold wave over his body as he fell back into darkness.

-

"_Rennervate!_"

Warmth rushed back into Harry's extremities, and he found himself lying on the floor, his entire body aching. Forcing his eyelids open, he found Mrs. Weasley kneeling beside him, worry etched in her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Harry sat up, regretting it at once as pain exploded in his head and his vision went black momentarily, but he had more important things to worry about. He looked around the room wildly. "Did you catch him? Where is he?"

"Where is who? What are you talking about?" She looked startled by his panic.

"Aberforth." Harry pressed a hand over his forehead. Now that he realized it was morning and several hours must have passed since he was knocked out, a general confusion had settled over his mind, compiled by an increasing migraine. "He was looking for something," he said finally, pointing at the cabinet across the room, "in there."

Mrs. Weasley did not seem the least bit concerned about the cabinet, however. She stood and helped Harry to his feet, leading him to the nearest chair so he could sit down. "We were going to wait until breakfast to tell you," she said grimly. "Arthur just found out last night. Someone turned in a tip at the Ministry that Aberforth's a Death Eater, and he's gone missing."

Harry opened his mouth, but stopped himself at the last minute, remembering that he was not supposed to know about Aberforth.

Luckily, Mrs. Weasley was not looking at him anymore, finally turning her attention to the cabinet. "It doesn't look like anything's missing. Did you see him take something?"

Harry shook his head, wincing as his vision blurred. "I didn't see much, though."

Mrs. Weasley slammed the drawer shut, sighing heavily as she moved over to the sink to attack a stack of dishes left from the previous night. "I told Arthur I didn't trust that man. I don't care if he's Dumbledore's brother. I never liked the way he skulked around Hogsmeade. With all those children around, I can't believe no one ever—"

The door swung open, cutting her off, and Mr. Weasley stepped in. "Good m—what?"

For Mrs. Weasley had just rounded on him, brandishing a washcloth like a deadly weapon. "I told you we needed a guard down here! Wards on the fireplaces! But no, _you_ said I was overreacting!"

Mr. Weasley started forward cautiously. "Molly, what happened?"

"_What happened?! _I'll tell you what happened! Aberforth attacked Harry! Right here in the kitchen!"

Mr. Weasley's expression became stony immediately as he turned to Harry for confirmation. Harry nodded.

"This place isn't safe anymore, Arthur! We need to..." Mrs. Weasley trailed off as the door opened again. This time, Hermione stood on the other side, looking just as exhausted and ill as the previous day.

Mrs. Weasley turned to the stove to start cooking breakfast, her lips pursed. Mr. Weasley muttered something about having a word with Moody and left the room. When Hermione sat next to Harry, he gave her a quick, whispered account of what happened.

"So he didn't take anything?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. I tried to reach for my wand, but my book fell, and..." He stopped, glancing at the floor.

"What is it?" Hermione said.

"My Occlumency book," Harry said in a furious whisper, hoping that the sizzling of sausage would keep Mrs. Weasley from overhearing. "It's gone."

Hermione looked around too, as though Harry might have overlooked it. "But why would he take it?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. Other people were starting to filter into the room now. When Ron arrived, the conversations around them had risen to a point where Harry knew he would not be overheard, so he explained what had happened.

After breakfast, he was going to head upstairs with Ron and Hermione to talk more, but on the first floor, they met Moody, who insisted on having a word with Harry alone.

"Go ahead," Harry said immediately, not wanting Ron or Hermione to make a scene. "I'll meet you upstairs."

Once the other two were out of hearing range, Moody spoke. "Arthur told me you were attacked. What happened?"

Harry told him, already tired of repeating the same thing over and over again. He left out the part about the book, since he did not want the fact that he was studying Occlumency to spread around.

"You're sure you didn't see anything else?" Moody asked. "Anything that might tell us why he was here?"

Harry shook his head.

"Well, don't worry." Moody patted his shoulder. "We'll be putting wards around the fireplaces and doors. Nobody else is getting into this house without us knowing about it." He set off down the hall, his wooden leg making a dull thudding noise with every other step.

"What did he want?" Ron asked when Harry joined them on the second floor.

"Just to ask about what happened," Harry said, as they slowly started upstairs again. "I don't know why. I couldn't tell him any more about it than Mr. Weasley could."

"Except that he stole your book," Hermione said.

Harry shook his head, not quite meeting their eyes. "The Order doesn't need to know that I'm studying Occlumency. They have enough to worry about already."

"But why take your book?" Ron asked. "I mean, he must've been looking for something else."

"And why would he knock you out?" Hermione said. "He could have killed you, or at least wiped your memory."

Harry shrugged, though he felt a slight annoyance. He knew she was just thinking out loud, but it almost sounded as though she was still holding on to the idea that Aberforth was working for the Order.

"Why were you in the kitchen anyway?" she asked, shaking Harry from his thoughts. "I thought you went to bed after you left."

"I wasn't tired, so I thought I'd do some reading."

Thankfully, she did not to press the issue. "I'll try to track down another good Occlumency book for you," she said. "Speaking of which, I think we should start collecting any books that might help us out and storing them away. Tonks is due back in the next couple of days, which means we'll be heading back to the Burrow."

Harry gave a start. He had completely forgotten that they were only staying here temporarily, and he was unsure of how he felt about it. He wished they had more time to search for Horcrux books, but he was relieved that he would not have to stay in the overcrowded house much longer.

"Thank God," Ron muttered. "Mum's been hinting at assigning me a roommate."

"It is getting a bit ridiculous, isn't it?" Hermione said. "I can understand keeping the werewolves here, but they can't just keep bringing in every person who's in the slightest bit of danger. This house is big, but it has its limits."

"Well, Dad says the Order's setting up safe houses," Ron said.

"People are getting attacked every day," Hermione said. "Safe houses take weeks to set up. What is the Order going to do when they run out of space to put people?"

They had reached the library by now, so the conversation stopped. They cast their Dust Repelling and Bubble-Head Charms and went back to work. Research was out of the question at the moment, since they had only a couple days left. Instead, they scanned books quickly to see if they held anything that might be helpful. Or, rather, Hermione scanned the books, while Harry and Ron asked her repeatedly what they were supposed to be looking for.

"Anything to do with cursed objects or soul magic," Hermione said, giving _Muggle Anatomy_ a look of pure disgust before tossing it on a pile of discarded books.

Once again, they spent much of the day going through book after book, hardly speaking to each other. They stacked the books they planned to bring back beside the table. Before long, they had collected several dozen, many of which had accumulated so much dust that Harry had a hard time reading their titles.

Of course, Harry was not just looking for books to help with the Horcruxes. After what happened the previous night, he needed a new book on Occlumency. Unfortunately, the few he did locate were, on first glance, just as hard to understand as the other one had been. Nevertheless, he did set them aside in their own stack. As he added a fourth book, he saw Hermione glancing at him with a worried expression, but he pretended not to notice. She knew that the book was stolen; she should not have been surprised that he was looking for a replacement.

"I think that's enough for today," Hermione said finally. The sun was starting to set outside the window. "We'll need to shrink these books down so I can get them back to my room."

"I need to head downstairs," Ron said. "Mum and Dad said they want to talk to me when Dad gets home. I think they're assigning me that roommate." He glanced back at Hermione, as though trying to steel himself up to do something, but he seemed to think better of it and left the room.

Hermione sighed and strode over to the stack of books, waving her wand at them one by one to shrink them down to the size of thimbles. Harry tried to help, though he was not quite as efficient at the spell as she was, only shrinking one book for every five that she did. When they had finished, she slipped the books into her pockets. Harry did the same with his Occlumency books.

"Did you talk to Lupin about the lessons?" Hermione asked finally.

Harry nodded. "He can't do it. He says he doesn't know enough Legilimency."

"I know you're tired of me telling you this, but you really do need to learn."

"I'm trying, all right?" Harry tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, knowing that she was just trying to help. "I can't exactly learn it overnight."

"I know." Hermione glanced away quickly, wiping her eyes. She looked as though she were either about to cry or vomit.

"Are you okay?"

She waved her hand. "I'm fine. We should get some sleep. It'll take us at least another day to go through the rest of these books." She hurried out of the room before Harry could say another word. He stood rooted to the spot, staring after her. Was she really just overworking herself? Or was she hiding something from them?

By the time he made his way back down to his room, the sun had set, darkness settling over the house. In spite of the large number of people that he knew were staying there, the house felt empty. Nearly all the residents of Grimmauld Place seemed to keep to their rooms, excluding mealtimes, and the Order members were so busy that he hardly saw any of them on a regular basis.

Even though he hardly had a moment to himself anymore, Harry felt a wave of loneliness possess him. He was keeping so many secrets now—Horcruxes, Occlumency, Malfoy—he could hardly stand it anymore. Horcruxes and Occlumency were not as bad, since he could talk to Ron or Hermione about them. Malfoy was different. Neither of them could even begin to understand what Harry was going through. He could not even understand it himself. Every time he tried to think about it, his mind shut down, as though to spare itself the agony.

"Back so soon?" Malfoy asked when Harry finally walked in the door. He was sitting in his corner, one of Harry's old Defense Against the Dark Arts books propped open in front of him. "Thought maybe you'd taken my advice and checked yourself into St. Mungo's."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry growled, holding his wand aloft, "or I'll shut it for you."

Malfoy eyed Harry's wand nervously, but smirked. "Didn't know you were into that, Potter."

Harry glared, but he resisted the urge to rise to the bait. Instead, he went to his bed and lay down. In spite of his exhaustion, it was a long time before his mind cleared enough for him to sleep.

-

Harry stared at the crackling fire. His forehead throbbed distantly and a slight anxiety lurked in the back of his mind, but they were unimportant whispers. He needed to concentrate.

A door creaked loudly on his left, but Harry did not show any surprise. "Did you bring her?" he asked in a high, cold voice.

"Yes, my Lord," a wavering voice answered. Harry looked around to see Wormtail enter the room, followed closely by a tall woman with sleek blond hair.

"Welcome, Narcissa," Harry said. He turned to Wormtail. "Leave us." Wormtail let out a nervous squeak and scurried out of the room.

Narcissa said nothing, standing perfectly still with her chin held high. Her eyes were puffy from crying, however, which Harry noted with some amusement. Though she had not been forced into the room, it was obviously the last place she wanted to be.

Harry watched her with impassive eyes, waiting. He felt slightly agitated by her continued silence, but still he did not prompt her.

"Is it about Draco?" she asked finally, her voice betraying the emotion she had been trying to keep concealed. "Have you found him?"

"Yes," Harry replied, reaching into his robes and drawing his wand. Narcissa stiffened, but he only turned the wand over slowly in his hands, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on her.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"He is elsewhere." Harry held the wand up and closing one eye to look down the length of it.

"Are you going to send me to retrieve him?" Narcissa asked, not even trying to contain her happiness now.

"You will be instrumental in his return, yes." Harry raised his wand, but before he could speak again, a muffled, maniacal laugh erupted outside the room. He stood at once, anger coursing through his veins, and Narcissa stumbled backwards, pressing herself tightly into the corner of the room with a look of sheer terror on her face. A knock on the door made her jump about a foot, but Harry stood rigid, his wand still held ready. "Enter," he growled.

The door opened again, and, this time, Bellatrix Lestrange poked her head in. "I'm sorry to intrude, my Lord," she said, not even sparing a glance for her sister. She seemed to be struggling to keep a grin off her face. "You said to come straight to you when we got one."

Harry's rage receded at once. "By all means, show our guest in."

Bellatrix pushed the door open, revealing a bound and gagged man floating beside her, his feet hovering just a few inches off the ground. He was barely conscious, and the small amount of red hair on his head was matted with blood. Bellatrix gave a flick of her wand and he fell forward onto the floor, letting out a low groan.

Harry's lips twitched into what passed for a smile as he stared down at the sorry excuse for a man lying at his feet. "A handsome prize, Bellatrix."

She gave him a wide smile. "Caught him on his way home from work," she said proudly. She reached into her robes and drew out a second wand. "He didn't put up much of a fight."

"Very well," Harry said before she could elaborate further. "Take him downstairs. You may interrogate him, if you so desire, but keep him alive. I'll want to question him later."

"Thank you, my Lord," Bellatrix said breathlessly, bowing, as though this was more than she could have ever hoped for.

"You're dismissed." Harry watched as Bellatrix waved her wand at the man to levitate him into the air and backed out of the room, his limp body floating after her. "Now then," he said, turning again to Narcissa. He had felt the anxious feeling in the back of his mind increase and knew that he needed to finish this soon. "Where were we?"

"Please, my Lord," she said, stumbling forward and dropping to her knees. "Please help my son."

Harry smiled. "I will."

A distant, pounding noise echoed in his mind, and a voice echoed from afar. He raised his wand.

"_Crucio!_"

Harry had only a glimpse of Narcissa collapsing before pain exploded in his head and bile rose in his throat. He turned onto his side and retched. Only then did he open his eyes to find himself back in his bed, drenched in sweat and shaking violently. Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to see Malfoy standing beside his bed, watching him with apprehension.

The pounding resumed, and Harry realized that it was someone knocking at the door. "Harry, open up!" Ron's muffled voice called. "It's me!"

Gathering his strength, Harry managed to pull himself out of bed, fighting back the urge to vomit again. He crossed the still dark room on shaky legs that threatened to collapse out from under him. Finally, he reached the door and wrenched it open.

Ron stood on the other side, his face white as a sheet. "Dad never came home from work last night," he said. 

"I know." Harry leaned against the door frame in an attempt to make the world stop spinning. "Voldemort has him."

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. I'm having to juggle quite a bit at the moment, but I'll do my best to update again next weekend. Next chapter: melancholy reunions, Legilimency gone wrong, and a major relocation. Harry gets a stern talking to, Malfoy is getting fed up, and Kingsley comes bearing news. Be prepared, there will be quite a bit going on in the next chapter.


	16. Chapter 16: Relocation

Author's Note: Many thanks to all who reviewed. I have two papers due next week, so I decided to post this chapter early, so as to devote my weekend purely to schoolwork. I must also warn that I am fast approaching the point where my posting will catch up with my writing, probably within the next chapter or two. At that time, posts will most likely became fewer and farther between, as I don't have as much time to devote to writing as I used to. When that time comes, I will let you all know. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 16: Relocation

Save for a whistling teapot, the kitchen was utterly silent. Harry sat in the chair closest to the door, having collapsed there after Ron helped him downstairs. He had finally stopped shaking, but his stomach was still rolling from the dream.

Ron sat on his left, staring down at his clenched fists. He had not spoken a word since the recounting of Harry's dream. In fact, he had hardly even spared him a glance. Mrs. Weasley sat across the table, her eyes focused unblinkingly on the door. Harry had expected her to worry over him, but she was so distracted, she did not seem to notice that he was still there. The only other person at the table was Hermione, who looked about as ill as Harry felt.

The whistling stopped, replaced by the sound of liquid pouring. Lupin brought a tray of steaming cups over and set it in the middle of the table. He then took a seat between Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, taking a cup for himself. Nobody else showed any interest in the tea, however.

The door creaked open and all eyes turned to see who it was. Fred and George stood on the other side, their faces drawn. Mrs. Weasley got to her feet immediately and went over to them, pulling both into a tight hug.

"We came as soon as we heard," Fred said, glancing around the room as they broke apart. "Is there any news?"

"Not yet," Mrs. Weasley said. "Alastor's gone to see what he can..." She trailed off, for Fred and George had moved aside to reveal Ginny standing behind them, biting her lip.

A moment of tense silence passed. Then, Mrs. Weasley stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Ginny too. Neither spoke a word to the other. When they separated, Mrs. Weasley went back to her chair while Ginny sat between Harry and Ron, looking as though she were about to cry.

"Moody didn't tell us much," George said. "Just that Dad had gone missing."

When Mrs. Weasley made no move to speak, Lupin stepped up. "We have reason to believe that he may have been captured." He glanced at Harry as he said this. Fred and George followed his gaze and looks of realization crossed their faces before they quickly looked away again.

Harry stared down at the table. He felt as though he was in fifth year again, waiting for news about Mr. Weasley. But this time, none of them held any delusions of hearing that he had been rushed to St. Mungo's. Voldemort had him now, and, if Harry's dream was any indication, he was being tortured at this very moment.

Harry felt a warm hand settle over his and glanced up to see Ginny looking at him with concern. He turned his head and, after a moment's hesitation, pulled his hand away. He did not deserve her comfort. Sitting next to her enhanced every feeling of uncleanliness he had felt since she left, until all he wanted to do was lock himself away in a dark corner of the house for the rest of his life.

Finally, around dawn, a voice called out from across the room. "Molly."

"Alastor!" Mrs. Weasley jumped out of her chair at once and rushed over to the fireplace, where Moody's head stared out from the fire. "What's the latest?"

"I'm sorry," he said shaking his head. "Nothing's turned up yet. We have a dozen Order members out looking for him, though. We'll find him."

"Thank you," Mrs. Weasley said. Moody nodded and vanished, leaving only a few glowing embers behind.

"I should head upstairs," Lupin said, standing. "I have meals to prepare. Harry, would you mind giving me a hand?"

Grateful for the excuse to leave, Harry got up too and hurried after, ignoring the eyes that followed him. Neither of them spoke a word as Lupin led the way up to the fourth floor, taking Harry about midway down the hall and opening a door on their right.

The room looked like it might have been a bedroom once, but all the furniture had been removed, replaced with a mishmash of kitchen utilities and cabinets. The cart that Lupin wheeled around was sitting in the center of the room.

"You can get the silverware ready," Lupin said, pointing at a drawer next to the sink as he headed for the refrigerator. "We need forty-two sets. Napkins are in the cabinet there."

Harry nodded and went to the counter. He set to work rolling the silverware in napkins and stacking them up. By the time he was done, Lupin had finished cooking and started scooping heaps of eggs, bacon, and toast onto plates. Harry helped carry the plates over to the cart and store them on the shelves inside, which had been charmed to keep the food fresh while Lupin was passing it out.

"Thank you, Harry," Lupin said half an hour later when they had finally finished, wiping an arm over his forehead. "You can go now."

"I could help pass the food out, if you want," Harry said, hoping he did not sound too eager. He wanted something to do.

"No, that won't be necessary," Lupin said as he cleared off the stove. Then, he paused for a moment, and turned around. "Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry, who had turned to leave, gave a start. Not a single other person had asked him that tonight, not even after he told them about his dream. It seemed so strange for Lupin to be the one to ask the question that Harry forgot for a moment that he was tired of hearing it. "I'm fine," he said. "It's just...I think Voldemort knows we have Malfoy." The words came tumbling out before he could stop them.

"And what makes you think that?" Lupin asked.

And so, Harry revealed the part of the dream he had left out when telling the others, about Wormtail bringing Narcissa in and Voldemort torturing her. It was almost a relief to get it out, as though a great burden was being lifted from his shoulders. Still, his nerves were on edge, so he was forced to keep talking until the very end, knowing the moment he stopped, he would not be able to start again.

Thankfully, Lupin stayed silent, regarding him with a calm, but firm gaze. Even after Harry went silent, he waited a moment before he spoke. "Is this the first dream you've had like this since your fifth year?"

"Yes," Harry replied.

"But something else did happen. Something that made you want to start Occlumency lessons again."

Harry resisted the urge to fidget, staring at a point over Lupin's shoulder to keep from having to meet his eyes.

Lupin seemed to notice his nervousness and turned his gaze to one side. "I'm not trying to patronize you, but I want you to remember what happened the last time you had a dream like this. You-Know-Who may be setting another trap."

"I'm not stupid," Harry said. "I'm not going to run off and try to save Mr. Weasley."

"I never said that you would, nor was I referring to Arthur."

"You think I would try to save _Narcissa Malfoy_?"

"Not you, Harry, but remember how determined you were to save Sirius? Think of what young Mr. Malfoy would do if he knew his mother was being tortured at this very moment."

Realization dawned on Harry. "You think he's setting a trap for Malfoy."

Lupin nodded. "If it is a trap, yes, that seems the most likely. Now, Mr. Malfoy is in your charge, so the final decision rests with you, but you would do best not to tell him about any of this. He might do something rash."

"Yeah," Harry hoped that was the end of it. In the silence that followed, he mentally calculated the distance to the door, wondering if he could make a quick escape.

Then, Lupin sighed. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help you with your Occlumency." He moved over to the serving cart and pulled out a scroll of parchment, glancing over it.

Deciding that this was his hint to leave, Harry made a beeline for the door and slipped out into the hallway, breathing a deep sigh of relief. For a moment, while he spoke of his dream, it had almost seemed that talking to Lupin would be easy, that maybe he could be trusted with more secrets. This seemed a foolish hope now. Lupin was nice and trustworthy enough, but Harry could not talk to him freely.

Harry found Ron and Hermione in the library, but neither was searching for books. Instead, they sat across from each other at the table, Ron staring off toward the corner of the room. Hermione watched him closely, her hand resting lightly on top of his. Harry hesitated at the door, not wanting to interrupt, but before he could decide one way or the other, Hermione spotted him and withdrew her hand. Ron gave a start and looked around too. He only gave Harry the slightest of nods before crossing his arms over his chest and resuming his stare.

Harry moved over to the table and took the seat furthest away from them, still feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment. Hermione's worried gaze was on him now, however, so he knew better than to try to leave. "How did things go with Lupin?" she asked finally.

Harry shrugged. "I wrapped silverware and carried plates. That's about it." He hesitated for a moment, but he was keeping enough secrets. He knew he should not add more. "Listen, I need to tell you something." He began to tell them about seeing Narcissa, but there was no feeling of relief this time, only apprehension.

"Lupin's right," Hermione said once he had finished. "Voldemort's probably trying to lure Malfoy in. He might not even be torturing her; he could've just created the vision."

"But I saw Mr. Weasley too," Harry pointed out.

Hermione winced slightly, her eyes darting to Ron for a moment. "Yeah, that part probably was real. I don't see any way he could've set that up." She gave Harry a stern look. "I know you're going to hate me for saying this, but I don't think we should get involved. We have enough to worry about with the Horcruxes. Besides, the Order has a much better chance of getting him back than we do."

Harry did not want to admit it, but she was right. They could not let themselves get caught up worrying about Mr. Weasley, especially when there was not much to be done for him. They did not even know where he was being kept.

"We could make a trade," Ron said in a sudden, low voice, making the other two jump.

"What?" Harry asked after a moment of silence, a cold chill spreading through his blood.

Ron was still staring at nothing in particular, his expression unreadable. "He has one of the Order members. We have one of his Death Eaters. We could set up a trade."

"Ron..." Hermione said, flinching when he turned to look at her, "even if we could find some way to contact him—"

"I'm sure the Order could help us out with that."

"If Voldemort gets a hold of Malfoy, he'll kill him," Harry said.

"So what?" Ron turned his glare on Harry. "He's a Death Eater. It's no loss."

"So we hand him over," Harry said, an edge in his voice. "Then what? Do you think Voldemort's just going to let your dad go? Are you really that dense?"

Ron leapt to his feet at once. "At least I'm trying! But apparently you care more about Malfoy than my dad!"

Harry jumped up, sending his chair crashing to the floor, and drew his wand. Ron fumbled for his own. Before either of them could utter a spell, however, Hermione was between them. "Stop it, both of you!" she shouted. "You're acting like children!" She waited until they had both lowered their wands, though they continued to glower at each other. Then, she took a deep breath and turned to Ron. "I'm sorry, but Harry's right. Voldemort must have taken your dad for a reason. He isn't going to give him up that easily."

Ron looked between the other two for a moment, his expression growing steadily darker. "I should've known you'd take his side," he muttered, turning on his heel and stalking away.

"Ron!" Hermione called after him, but he showed no reaction, slamming the door with enough force to shake great clouds of dust off every surface in the library. When Harry opened his mouth to speak, she rounded on him. "Don't say a word. You should know better." 

"What?" Harry gaped at her. "He's the one who—"

"We should have discussed it calmly. _Rationally_. This is his dad we're talking about." 

"Don't you think I know that? I want to get him back, too. Doesn't excuse Ron being an idiot."

Hermione opened her mouth, seemed to think better of it, and sighed, shaking her head. "I'm not going to argue about this. I have research to do." Without sparing him so much as another glance, she went to the nearest bookshelf and grabbed a book. Harry wanted nothing more than to storm off and find somewhere to be alone with his thoughts, but he knew that she would be even more irritated if he left her to do all the work herself. So, he went to the bookshelf furthest from her and started looking.

An unnatural silence settled over Grimmauld Place that day. Mrs. Weasley and Lupin were the only Order members still in the house, and it seemed that news of Mr. Weasley's disappearance had spread. Nobody spoke during meals; even the younger children were quiet. Fred, George, and Ginny stayed for lunch, but the unspoken tension between them and their mother had escalated again, so that by the time dinner came around, they had left again. Ron did not show up for lunch, and though he did come downstairs for dinner, he stayed just long enough to clear his plate.

Harry and Hermione did not say a word to each other for the rest of the day either. Though they spent much of their time in the library looking for Horcrux books, they only found half a dozen between the two of them. When the sun had set to the point where it was becoming difficult to read, Hermione closed her last book. She waved her wand over the meager stack of books they had collected to shrink them and tucked them into her pocket. Then, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead, she hurried from the room.

Harry waited for a while to let her have a head start before he left. Though he dreaded going back to his room just as much that night as he did any other, he was mostly just glad for the day to be over. After hours of silence and people stealing glances at him, it would almost be a relief to argue with Malfoy.

When Harry reached his room, he was surprised to find that Malfoy was not in his corner as usual. Instead, he was pacing the room, his arms crossed over his chest. The moment the door closed, he stopped just in front of Harry's trunk and looked up, his eyes narrowed. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" he asked in a quiet, forced voice.

"Not that it's any of your business," Harry said, staying by the door to keep as much distance between them as possible, "but Ron's dad's gone missing."

"That's not what I'm talking about. You were muttering in your sleep last night." Malfoy paused, staring at him unblinkingly. "You said my mother's name. I want to know why."

Harry shrugged, struggling to keep his expression neutral as the image of Narcissa falling to the floor, writhing in pain filled his mind. "I don't know. I don't remember what I was dreaming about."

"You're lying. I can tell."

Harry bit lip to keep from swearing and looked away quickly. "You know Legilimency," he said without thinking.

Malfoy sneered. "I know enough." He turned and lifted a book from atop the trunk. Even from a distance, Harry recognized it as one of his Occlumency books. "Then again, it wouldn't take much to get into your mind, now would it?"

Harry glared at the wall, not daring to look at him directly again.

Malfoy dropped the book back on the trunk with a heavy thud and started forward. Harry considered opening the door and making a run for it, but Malfoy stopped in the middle of the room. "You know something," he said, "and I will find out what it is." With that, he turned around and marched into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and went to sit on the edge of his bed, his stomach rolling. The thought that even Malfoy could get into his mind and see what he was thinking made him feel even more incompetent than ever. He was a failure at Occlumency.

The muffled sounds of the shower running brought Harry back to reality and he sighed, laying down. He did not want to sleep, but he knew it was inevitable. Exhaustion was already starting to overtake him.

-

The fireplace crackled loudly, flames leaping high into the air. A gigantic snake slithered closer to it to warm herself, scales glittering in the light.

"_Nagini_," Harry hissed. "_Go check on our prisoners_."

Nagini lifted her head lazily, but then darted toward the door with surprising speed.

"My Lord?" a voice said tentatively.

"You try my patience." Harry turned his eyes on the stooped man across the room. "Have you found him?"

"We have many l—"

"Yes or no, Rookwood."

Rookwood flinched. "No."

"Then why do you waste my time?"

"My Lord, the Ministry—"

"I am well aware of the Ministry's involvement. Did they find anything in the house?"

"The reports haven't come in yet, my Lord."

Harry felt his irritation rising as he waved his hand in dismissal. "Do not return until they have."

Rookwood, clearly relieved to be getting off so easily, bowed deeply. "Yes, my Lord." He scurried out of the room, as though scared that Harry might change his mind.

Harry settled back in his chair and focused on the fire again. After a few moments, the flames melted away, and he was slithering down a long hallway. He felt cold and lethargic, but still he kept moving, ignoring the urge to curl up around one of the torches lining the stone walls. The scent of blood was a stronger pull. He flicked his tongue out to taste the air, and changed direction, sliding through iron bars.

A man with balding red hair lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, completely naked save for a ragged blanket he used to cover himself. His skin was crisscrossed with shallow cuts, most of which had healed over, but a few still oozed blood and pus. Harry slithered closer, drawn by the warmth of the body. The man's eyes fluttered open, and he sucked in a quick breath, his muscles tensing. Harry slid closer, feeling the rapid, frightened beat of the man's heart. He wanted to bite the man, to sink his teeth into his flesh, but he held back. His orders were simply to watch this time.

A sudden, sharp pain erupted in Harry's head, and he felt himself jerk backwards. He had a brief glimpse of a pair of gray eyes staring at him, and then he was looking into the fireplace again. He focused on the flames, quickly suppressing all thought. The eyes swam before his again, and this time he saw the outline of a pale, scared face. He could feel a slight pressure just above his eyes, as though someone was holding them open.

He laughed to himself, as though at a private joke. "Hello, Draco."

The pressure lifted and pain shot through Harry's scar again, his eyes squeezing shut as laughter rang in his ears. As the amusement began to die away, he opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the terrified face of Malfoy, who knelt at his side.

Harry sat up at once. In his hurry to get away, his legs tangled in his sheets, and he fell over the side of the bed. Struggling to quell his rising panic and bring himself back to reality, he managed to pull himself onto shaky legs, fumbling for his glasses. "What the fuck was that?" he shouted when he finally found his voice.

Malfoy blinked and looked up, as though just noticing that Harry had moved. "I...I _saw _him," he said in a quiet, wavering voice.

"Yeah, and _he_ saw _you_!" Harry stumbled over to his desk chair and sat down, pressing his hand to his forehead and trying not to vomit. "This is a nightmare," he muttered under his breath.

"I...I was...a _snake_. And then..." Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "How did you do that?"

Harry's head snapped up. "_I_ didn't do anything! You were the one sticking your nose in where you don't belong!"

"I wanted to know what you know about my mother."

"I told you, I don't know anything!"

"You're lying!"

Harry growled under his breath and bent double, pressing his fingers over his eyes and willing his head to stop pounding. He did not have time for this. He needed to think. Voldemort had asked Rookwood if he had found someone yet. Who was he talking about? 

"Need a rubbish bin, Potter?"

"What?" Harry dropped his hands and looked up.

"Because if you're going to be sick, I really don't need to see it."

Harry clenched his fists and stood up at once, regretting it as his scar gave a particularly painful throb and his vision blurred. He turned on his heel and headed straight for the door. He wanted nothing more than to throttle Malfoy, but he had bigger things to worry about at the moment.

Harry set off down the hallway with no particular destination in mind, wracking his brain to remember the specifics of his dream. The image of Mr. Weasley lying on the floor tried to invade his conscious, but he forcibly pushed it away. Voldemort had said something about a house. He wanted to know if anything had been found there. Details were lacking. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Voldemort had known he was there and deliberately kept the conversation vague.

Harry felt his anger begin to boil again. Even if Voldemort had not known that he was listening in, he certainly did now. Malfoy had seen to that.

As Harry made his way down the first floor hall, his foot caught on something soft, and he nearly fell over, only just managing to steady himself. The something he tripped over let out a yelp and sat up, a shadowy form in the darkness.

"Hello?" Parvati' called in a tentative voice, pulling her hand out from under the blanket she had draped over herself and stretching it toward Harry. "Who's there?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, trying to calm his own racing heart. "It's okay. It's just me." He knelt down and touched her shoulder to let her know where he was.

"Oh, Harry." She grasped his arm, as though afraid he would run away. "You scared me."

"Sorry about that. I didn't see you. Why are you out here anyway?"

"I haven't gotten any sleep the past few nights. Hermione's been keeping me awake."

"Snoring?" Harry smiled a little in spite of himself. It had only been a couple of weeks earlier that Ginny complained about Hermione's snoring, but it seemed as though a lifetime had passed since then.

The look on Parvati's face instantly wiped the smile from his. "Crying. She tries to be quiet about it, but I still hear her."

"Do you know why she's crying?"

She shook her head. "I don't think she's been sleep either though. Whenever she's not crying, she's always flipping through her books or shuffling around. I tried to ask her about it, but she just said she was researching."

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Hermione's door, furrowing his brow. He had known there was something off about her for the past few days, but he had no idea that it was this bad. He might have passed it off as her worrying about Mr. Weasley, but the problem went back further than that. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe she was working herself too hard over the Horcruxes.

"Harry?"

He snapped back to reality, looking around. "I'm headed down to the kitchen. Do you want to come with?"

Parvati shook her head. "I'm going to try to get a bit more sleep in before breakfast."

"You sure you'll be all right out here?" It did not seem right to leave her lying out in the hall all by herself.

She smiled. "I'll be fine. You're the only person I've seen all night. I think most of the Order's out looking for Ron's dad."

"Yeah." The image of Mr. Weasley floated back into Harry's mind, but he pushed it away again and stood up. "I'll see you at breakfast."

He did not meet anyone else on his way downstairs, and he fully expected to find the kitchen empty, as it was still a couple of hours until dawn. He was slightly taken aback when he stepped into the kitchen to find two familiar people already down there. They sat across from each other, a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky sitting on the table between them.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks said in a grim, slightly slurred voice, lifting her glass as though to toast him. She looked much as she had for the majority of the previous school year, with shoulder-length, mousy brown hair that hung in limp tendrils. She was considerably thinner than she had been just a couple weeks earlier, and her bloodshot, unfocused eyes seemed almost too big for her face. Her companion, Kingsley Shacklebolt, only gave Harry the briefest of nods. He had a similar look to his face as Tonks, though he did not appear to be as tired or as drunk. He downed his glass of Firewhisky in one draught and reached for the bottle.

Harry moved over to the table, taking the seat furthest away from the pair. After everything that had happened recently, the bottle of Firewhisky looked rather enticing, but neither Tonks nor Kingsley offered him any, and he did not particularly want to draw attention to himself. He did not want either of them asking why he was up so early.

He knew that Tonks's return must mean that the wards on the Burrow were finished. That also explained why she seemed so exhausted. He had not seen Kingsley since Dumbledore's funeral, however, and he wondered what could have put him in this state.

Luckily, the quiet did not last long. About ten minutes after Harry arrived, the door opened again and Mrs. Weasley stepped in with her clothes disheveled and looking as though she had not had a wink of sleep.

"Oh, Molly." Tonks stood up, wavering a bit, and went to hug her. "Kingsley told me what happened. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," Mrs. Weasley said, hugging her back. When they finally broke apart, she took Tonks's face between her hands and studied her. "You're quite a sight. You'll need to get some sleep, straight after breakfast."

Tonks offered only a small smile and went back to her seat, polishing off the last of her drink.

Mrs. Weasley smiled at Harry briefly and turned to Kingsley. "Is it Arthur?"

"I'm sorry, Molly," Kingsley said, "but that's not why I'm here. Bad business, I'm afraid. We followed up a lead on Snape's whereabouts yesterday."

"Did you find him?" Harry asked at once.

Kingsly shook his head. "Whoever was staying in that house left quite a mess behind. Potions, books, and maps everywhere. And then we found the hidden staircase that led to the next floor." He paused, sipping his drink.

"What was up there?" Harry prompted.

"Dementors. About a dozen, all locked inside with wards so they couldn't get out until someone opened the door."

"Why would Snape have Dementors?"

"I think we were set up. Most likely someone planted the tips and locked the Dementors inside to attack us."

"Is everyone all right?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Young Roland Davidson—the one who found them—he fell down the stairs and cracked his skull open. He's under observation in St. Mungo's as a precaution. The rest of us escaped unharmed."

"Do you have any idea where Snape might've gone?" Harry asked.

Kingsley shook his head. "The tips are still coming in, but none are turning up anything. We're still working on identifying the potions left behind to see if they'll give us any...any hints." He looked up toward the doorway, where Lupin had just appeared.

A moment of silence passed, in which Lupin and Tonks just stared at each other. Then, he wordlessly crossed the room, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Harry glanced away, feeling once again as though he were intruding on a private moment. Kingsley followed Harry's suit, though it was not clear whether he was purposefully looking away or just intently focused on his drink. Mrs. Weasley, however, continued to gaze at them, her eyes glistening.

Finally, they broke apart, though Lupin kept his hands on Tonks's shoulders. "So, is it done?" he asked.

Tonks nodded. "The wards are in place. They just need to be activated." She turned to Mrs. Weasley. "I'll show you how to do that when we get there."

"Thank you," Mrs. Weasley said.

No one spoke for a long time after this. Mrs. Weasley started cooking breakfast. She seemed a bit distracted, however, as she very nearly buttered a piece of bread before toasting it. Lupin sat next to Tonks with an arm around her shoulders, watching her closely. She kept her own eyes firmly planted on the table. Kingsley, in the meantime, had helped himself to more Firewhisky.

As time passed, more people started to filter into the room, and a low rumble of conversation began. Parvati was one of the first to come downstairs, led in by Ivan. The boy gave Harry a nod of acknowledgement, but did not say anything. He had been oddly cold toward Harry, Ron, and Hermione ever since the incident with the cup.

At this point, Lupin rose from his chair, announcing that he needed to make his rounds. He squeezed Tonks's shoulder briefly before leaving. She watched him go, but the moment the door closed she returned her gaze to the table.

Ron showed up just as Mrs. Weasley started setting out food. He did not spare a glance for anyone, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his plate. He looked as though he were about to be sick.

Hermione did not arrive until midway through the meal. Not wanting her to notice him looking, Harry watched her out of the corner of his eye. Much like Tonks, she looked as though she had not had a wink of sleep in days, with great black circles under her eyes and hair so frizzy it almost seemed to stand on end. Oddly, she was carrying her old schoolbag, bulging slightly from whatever was held within. She sat down midway between Tonks and Mrs. Weasley, setting the bag down at her feet. She barely ate two bites of her breakfast, mostly resigning herself to pushing the food around on her plate.

As people finished eating and began to file out, Mrs. Weasley finally spoke, informing Ron and Hermione that the wards were up at the Burrow. All three of them were expected to have their trunks packed and ready to go by lunchtime. Ron just nodded at his plate and left. Hermione took a little while longer to react, finally picking up her bag and following after.

"I'd like a word before you go, Harry," Kingsley said.

Harry, who had been hoping to go after Hermione, sat back down reluctantly. "Yeah?"

"I know with everything that's been going on, you've probably forgotten," Kingsley said, "but the Carrows trial is in two days."

Harry blinked at him for a moment, then it came rushing back. Mr. Weasley had asked him to be a witness against the Carrows almost a week earlier.

"We need you to testify now more than ever," Kingsley continued. "Since Arthur's disappeared, two other witnesses have dropped out. We offered them protection, but there's only so much we can do." He paused for a moment. "Now, you should know, this won't be like your hearing. There will be a prosecutor and a speaker for the defense. They will be asking most of the questions. The Wizengamot may ask a few questions, but they'll mostly just be watching."

Harry nodded. He had seen the sentencing of Death Eaters in Dumbledore's Pensieve, but he did not know much about the trials themselves.

"You must understand, this is a public trial, so anyone can go. I wouldn't be surprised if a few Death Eaters show up. If it's someone who's suspected of a crime, the Aurors will handle it, but otherwise, there's nothing to be done."

"So, basically, if I see someone I know is a Death Eater, I should keep my mouth shut."

"Tell an Order member if you can do so without drawing attention to yourself, so that we can keep an eye on the person. Otherwise, yes. I'm sorry, Harry, but You-Know-Who's supporters will take any opportunity they can to cry false arrest, especially if the Order is involved. We can't afford to lose what little support the Ministry gives us."

"I understand."

Kingsley smiled and stood, turning to Mrs. Weasley, who was busy washing the breakfast dishes. "I'll be in court today. If you need anything, contact my office by Floo and I'll get back to you."

She just nodded. After Kingsley had gone, Harry waited a bit to see if she would say anything to him, but she remained mute, scrubbing the dishes rather violently. So, he got up and headed upstairs toward his room.

Just as he reached the door, however, a voice called his name from down the hall. Lupin stepped out from behind his cart and approached. "I know you have to pack, but I need to have word with you."

"Yeah?" Harry asked. Truthfully, he was glad for the delay.

Lupin glanced around to make sure no one was coming and lowered his voice. "We need to talk about how you're going to get Mr. Malfoy back into the Burrow."

"Well..." That particular issue was one of the reasons Harry was hesitant to go back in his room. "I thought we'd just...you know...put him in the trunk again."

"There may be another way. Do you still have your Invisibility Cloak?"

"Yeah, Ron has it, but I can't just give it to Malfoy. What if he takes off?"

Lupin shook his head. "That's not what I had in mind. Just get the Cloak and bring it back here. I'll explain the situation to Mr. Malfoy."

"What...?" Harry started, but Lupin had already disappeared into his room.

-

"What?" Ron stood with one hand braced on his door, his eyes narrowed. Behind him, his trunk stood open against one wall, clothes spilling out onto the floor.

"I need the Cloak," Harry repeated.

"Why?"

"Lupin says he has a better way of getting Malfoy back to the Burrow." Ron bristled at Malfoy's name, but Harry pressed on. "He wouldn't say what it was, just that he needed the Cloak."

Ron stared for another moment, during which Harry contemplated what to do if he refused. Then, finally, he turned and crossed the room. He retrieved the cloak from underneath his bed and carried it back to Harry.

"Thanks." Harry stared down at the cloak to avoid having to look directly at Ron. It did not seem right for him to be here. Not when he could still see the vivid image of Mr. Weasley lying on that cold, stone floor in his mind.

"What do you want me to do with the cabinet?"

"Hmm?" Harry looked up in surprise. "Oh, you'd better keep it for now. The last thing we need is Malfoy getting into it."

"Yeah," Ron muttered, nodding at the ground. Then, just as Harry turned to go, he spoke again in a rush. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Harry asked, stopping in his tracks.

"For what I said yesterday. You were right. I was being stupid."

Harry hesitated, not sure how to reply. "If I knew any way to get him back, I would," he said finally. "You know that, right?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah." Without another word, he turned his attention back to packing his trunk.

Harry turned and started back toward his room. At any other time, he probably would have stayed to help Ron pack. There was an unspoken dismissal in the way Ron had ended the conversation, however. As it seemed they were finally back on speaking terms, Harry did not want to take any chances that they would start arguing again.

When he opened his door, he found Lupin and Malfoy standing on opposite sides of the room, arms crossed, watching each other suspiciously. Lupin reacted first, glancing at Harry. "Did you bring it?"

Harry nodded, holding up the cloak. "Now, are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"Not so great when you're the one in the dark, eh, Potter?" Malfoy said, smirking.

Harry glared and opened his mouth to tell Malfoy to shut up, but Lupin spoke first. "Now, I'll have none of this," he said, giving them both a stern look. Then, he turned to Malfoy. "Unless you want to go back in the trunk, Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you keep your comments to yourself."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes but settled back against the wall without another word.

"That's better." Lupin turned his gaze back to Harry. "I may have a different way of getting him into the Burrow. It'll take a bit more work, but I think we can manage it."

"And why exactly should I agree to this?" Harry asked, shooting another glare at Malfoy. As hesitant as he was to put Malfoy back in the trunk, a part of him could not help but think he deserved it, especially after what had happened the previous night. Malfoy just stared back, as though daring him to say anything else.

Lupin looked between them. "Look, I won't pretend to understand the fine details of what's going on here, because I don't. But I do know that, for whatever reason, you two are stuck with each other, and if I can do something that will lessen the chance that you'll be found out, I will."

Harry realized that he was holding his breath and let it out as quickly as he could without being obvious. He could not bring himself to look directly at either of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy visibly stiffen, glancing at Lupin warily. After a moment, Harry spoke, trying to keep his voice level. "What's your idea?"

Lupin gave him a slight smile, clearly relieved that he did not have to argue further. "You'll pack your trunk and go back to the Burrow while Mr. Malfoy remains here. When you arrive, Tonks will show you how the new security system works and, more importantly, how to deactivate it. Now, you're going to take one of these..." Lupin reached into his pocket and withdrew two thin, clear rods about the length of his index finger. "...and when everyone's gone to sleep for the night, you'll go down the fireplace. Take down the wards and snap this in half. It'll alert me that the coast is clear, and I'll bring Mr. Malfoy through the fire. The cloak is just extra security in case someone should happen to be out of bed." 

"I don't know..." The prospect of leaving Malfoy alone in the middle of Order headquarters was not particularly appealing, but neither was locking him in the trunk against his will again.

"The Order won't find him," Lupin said, as though he had sensed what was bothering Harry. "I'll make sure of it."

Harry hesitated another moment, but finally he nodded. He passed the cloak to Lupin and took one of the small rods, which felt cold and oddly heavy.

"If anything does go wrong," Lupin said, holding up his own, "I'll snap this in half to alert you. If yours glows blue and starts to hum, I want you to get back up to your room."

"But—"

"No arguing. There's no sense in both of us getting caught."

Harry wanted to protest further, but he held back, pocketing the crystal rod. He just had to hoped that it would not come to that.

Lupin took his silence for affirmation and nodded. "I'll leave you to your packing." He left the room.

"So, you're just going to leave me here with him?" Malfoy asked, the instant the door had closed.

Harry gaped. "Do you _want_ to go back in the trunk?"

Malfoy made a disgusted noise. "If you think I want any of this, Potter, you're even more of an idiot than I thought you were."

Harry's fists clenched, his blood boiling. "I'm sure a cell in Azkaban could still be arranged. If you behave at the trial, they might even let you have the one next to your father."

Malfoy rushed across the room, but Harry had plenty of time to react. He dodged the swing aimed at his head and gave Malfoy's shoulders a shove, sending him reeling backwards. With nothing to catch hold of, Malfoy fell hard, throwing out his hands to keep his head from hitting the floor. He jumped back to his feet almost at once, unfazed.

Harry's anger was already evaporating, however. "You're bleeding," he said, indicating Malfoy's hands, which were scraped raw.

Malfoy gave no hint of having heard him. "Don't you dare talk about my father," he hissed.

"I'll talk about whoever I want," Harry replied coolly.

Malfoy glared another moment and then turned on his heel, stalking off to the bathroom and slamming the door.

Harry growled under his breath and bent to pick up a shirt off the floor. He spent the next ten minutes in a fervor, gathering up his belongings and throwing them haphazardly into his trunk. He had unpacked very little since arriving, however, so after collecting all of the stray clothes and the Occlumency books he still needed to go through, he was finished.

He sighed and sat on top of his trunk, staring out over the room. Aside from the rumpled sheets on the bed, it hardly seemed that anyone had stayed in the room at all. Though Harry had no attachment to the house, he felt a certain sadness in knowing that he was about to leave it behind.

But Harry, Ron, and Hermione had done what they needed to do. They had found out the identity of R.A.B. They had found the Horcruxes that resided in the house. They had collected as many books as they could to help them with their search. Now that the Burrow had wards, there was no real reason for them to remain at Grimmauld Place.

The hours crept by, but Malfoy did not return. Around noon, Harry finally stood up, stretching his cramped muscles. He walked over to the bathroom but stopped at the last moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob. A mixture of images flashed through his mind: Malfoy clutching either side of a sink, his head bowed; Malfoy leaning against him, naked and weak from infection; Malfoy lying on the floor, blood pouring from gaping wounds across his face and chest...

Harry stepped back, his hand dropping to his side. A mix of emotions filled him, muddled and indistinguishable, but he pushed them away. If Malfoy wanted to sulk, that was fine with him. So, he turned, went to open the door to the hall, and set himself to the task of dragging his trunk out of his room.

Ron and Mrs. Weasley were waiting for him by the stairs leading down to the first floor. "There you are, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, looking a bit harried. "Here, let me send that to the kitchen for you." She waved her wand at Harry's trunk, which disappeared with a loud popping sound. "Hermione's already downstairs." She had an anxious air about her, as though she could not get out of the house fast enough. After what had happened, Harry could hardly blame her.

When they reached the kitchen, they found their luggage piled up next to the fireplace. Hermione was sitting hunched over on her trunk with her arms crossed. Tonks crouched in front of her, talking in an undertone. The moment the others walked in, however, she straightened up. "We should go right away," she said. "We need to reactivate the wards as soon as possible."

Mrs. Weasley picked up her and Mr. Weasley's bags. "I'll go first." Without waiting for anyone to speak, she grabbed a handful of Floo powder, threw it in the fireplace, and stepped in, shouting, "The Burrow!"

Tonks waited a moment and then nodded. "Ron, you're next."

As Ron lugged his trunk over to the fire, Harry turned his attention to Hermione. He noticed now that she was hugging her old schoolbag tightly to her chest, and her eyes were very distant. "Hermione?" he said tentatively. "Are you all right?"

For a moment, he thought she might not even have heard him, but finally she blinked and looked up. "Hmm? Oh, I'm fine," she mumbled, suppressing a yawn.

"Hermione," Tonks said after Ron had disappeared into the flames. Hermione got up, slinging her bag over her shoulder, and, with Tonks' help, dragged her own trunk over to fireplace. Once she had gone, Harry grabbed his own trunk and approached the fire.

"I'll follow right after," Tonks assured him with a tired smile.

Harry nodded and tossed his Floo Powder into the fire. "The Burrow!" he called out, stepping forward. The flames enveloped him and he began to fall, fireplaces rushing past. His eyes watered, but he forced himself to keep them open. The last thing he needed was to miss his exit. Finally, he saw the Burrow's sitting room, and the trip came to an abrupt halt as he tumbled out of the fireplace, nearly falling over. Mrs. Weasley and Ron were standing wordlessly on the other side of the room, and Hermione had resumed her sulking on the sofa.

Harry barely had time to dust himself off before Tonks came stumbling after him. She straightened her robes and gave her head a little shake, sending a cloud of soot up into the air. "Okay, gather around," she said. "The faster we get this done, the better."

She directed them into a tight group near the fireplace. "First, we'll make sure no one is listening in." She gave her wand a shake and a soft blue light emanated from the end. She pointed it at herself briefly, and the light turned red. Then, she turned it away so that it changed to blue again and walked around the others, directing her wand outwards until she had completed a full circle. She nodded to herself and shook her wand again to put it out. "I've set up wards in every room and around the perimeter of the yard. No one can Apparate in or out or walk onto the property while they're up. This fireplace is your link with the Order. I've enchanted it so that it can only be spoken through but not walked through.

"If someone needs to come in, place your hand here..." She lifted her hand to a spot on the wall, next to a very large painting of a winter landscape that had not been there two weeks previous. "...and tap three times here." She rapped her wand on a tree near the upper left corner, and a smattering of snow appeared on the branches. "This will raise and lower the wards on only the fireplace. Snow means that they're up; no snow means they're down. They should only be taken down for short amounts of time, during which you need to keep a sharp eye to make sure no one sneaks in. If you go somewhere, someone will need to stay behind to keep the wards up while you're gone. Do you understand?"

They all nodded. "What do we do if someone gets in anyway?" Harry asked.

"I won't lie to you, it could happen," Tonks said. "If it does, head for the fireplace. You don't have to take the wards down to be able to get out. If you can't make it out, the use of an Unforgivable Curse on the property will lower the wards and notify the Order immediately. So if you find yourself backed into a corner, don't hesitate to use one." She paused for a moment, as though waiting for someone else to speak up. "If you have any more questions, talk to Moody. He helped draw up the plans, so he knows how the wards work."

Mrs. Weasley stepped forward and drew Tonks into a tight hug. "I can't thank you enough," she said in a wavering voice.

Tonks gave a strained smile. "I should be getting back," she said. "Remus is right. I should rest up before I go to work on Fred and George's shop. Take care of yourselves." She took the wards down and threw some Floo Powder into the fire. "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!"

Harry just stood where he was, not sure what to do next. The others did the same, though Hermione seemed to have completely lost interest in the situation and was just staring into space.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley moved over to put the wards back up. "Why don't you three go ahead and take your trunks upstairs," she said. "I'll start making lunch."

Another awkward silence passed after she left. Then, Hermione, without sparing the others a glance, wandered off toward the stairs, carrying just her school bag.

"Great," Ron muttered once she was out of earshot, "just leave us with all the work then."

"Lay off her," Harry said. "She's been working on the Horcruxes. She..." He trailed off. It did not feel right to tell Ron that Parvati had overheard Hermione crying.

"Lot of good that's done us," Ron said darkly, pulling out his wand. He tapped each of the trunks twice and, with a sweeping wave, sent them sliding across the floor on their own. Once they reached the steps, they tilted up and, one by one, began to climb up the stairs.

Even with the spell to help them along, it took Harry and Ron nearly half an hour to get the trunks into their rooms. When they got to Hermione's, they knocked on the door, but there was no answer.

"She can get it herself then." Ron waved his wand at his own trunk to set it moving upstairs again, stomping off after it.

Harry hesitated, knocking again. "Hermione?" he called, trying the doorknob. Locked. He considered using _Alohomora_, but he did not want to intrude if she just wanted to be alone. So, he reluctantly followed after Ron.

When they stepped into the kitchen ten minutes later, Mrs. Weasley ladled out three bowls of stew from a large pot on the stove and sat with them at the table. Some time passed, and Hermione did not show up, but no one commented on her absence.

Harry ate mechanically. He could not help but think about Malfoy and the little crystal rod tucked away in his pocket. What if something went wrong? What if they got caught? Harry did not care what Lupin had said, he would not let him take the blame for this. Not when Harry had been the one to drag him in in the first place.

"Would you like more?" Mrs. Weasley's voice jolted Harry back to reality, and he blinked down at his empty bowl. He pushed it away and shook his head, his stomach rolling. "I'm going upstairs," he said. The other two made no objection.

When Harry reached his room, he went to his bed immediately and collapsed onto it, staring at the ceiling. The silence pressed in from all around, threatening to smother him. In that moment, he would have given anything for someone to talk to, even Malfoy. He had never known the Burrow to be this quiet or to feel this empty.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: wands, visions, and fits. Malfoy gets his revenge, Hermione's strange behavior peaks, and Harry is pushed to the brink. Be forewarned folks, this next chapter will contain what I believe to be the most disturbing scene I have ever written. I don't wish to spoil anything, but I do feel the need to point back to the warnings in the summary.


	17. Chapter 17: Violated

Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed. I had one reviewer wonder what Draco's part in this story is. I would argue that he's already playing a big part, but I can see how that might not be readily apparent. Rest assured though, he will play a bigger role later down the line. I just have a few more things to play out first. I considered splitting this chapter in half, but the two parts weren't really long enough to stand on their own. I had to play around with the structure of these scenes a lot, since there are several layers to them. Ultimately, there are some things that aren't explained explicitly, but I tried to make them as clear as possible. Remember folks, this is the chapter with the disturbing scene. Enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 17: Violated

Harry did not realize that he had fallen asleep until he opened his eyes and noticed that the sky had darkened considerably. He wanted nothing more than to drift off again, but he knew he would have to meet Lupin soon. So, he forced himself out of bed, wincing as his muscles screamed in protest.

When he got down to the sitting room, he found Mrs. Weasley sitting on the sofa, staring into the fire. She had a cup of tea clutched in her hands, but hardly even seemed to realize it was there.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry said tentatively.

At first, he thought she might not have heard. Finally, she blinked and looked up. "Oh, you're awake. You missed dinner. I can heat up some stew if you'd like."

"No, thanks," Harry said, trying to keep from fidgeting. Lupin was probably already waiting for him. Every moment that passed was another chance they would be found out.

"Okay. If you change your mind, feel free to help yourself." She set her cup on the table and stood to leave. "Good night."

Harry waited until she was out of sight. Then, he drew out his wand and moved over to the landscape painting. He placed his free hand on the wall and tapped the tree three times. The branches twitched, sending the snow tumbling down to the ground in a rush. Once the scene had settled, he checked around the room again to make absolutely sure he was alone. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out the crystal rod and snapped it between his fingers. The broken pieces began to tremble slightly, emitting a low hum, and a soft blue light shone on his face. A moment or two later, the humming stopped, the light dimmed, and all that remained were two blackened sticks. Harry stared at the fireplace, waiting.

After what seemed an eternity, the flames finally glowed green and Lupin stepped out awkwardly, his hand outstretched as though holding an invisible rope. "Is the coast clear?"

Harry nodded.

Lupin twitched his hand, and the flames wavered behind him, the hazy outline of a cloak appearing briefly, then vanishing again. He reached over, groping the air for a moment, and pulled the cloak away.

To say that Malfoy looked unhappy would be an understatement. His face was drawn into a severe scowl, and his muscles were so stiff it was a wonder he was even able to move. Now that Harry had a better look, he could see the outline of the nearly transparent ropes that bound Malfoy's wrists together, the end trailing back into Lupin's hand.

"You tied him up?" Harry was not quite sure why, but he found the idea deeply unsettling.

Lupin nodded. "And put_ Silencio_ on him." He seemed to notice Harry's discomfort. "It's just as a precaution. I don't trust him not to run away." This drew a nasty glare from Malfoy.

"Undo them," Harry said, pretending not to notice Malfoy's look of surprise.

Lupin hesitated, but then waved his wand. Malfoy's hands separated. "So much for decency," he muttered, rubbing his wrists.

"Harry, can I have a word with you?" Lupin asked. He glanced at Malfoy. "Alone?"

"Oh yes," Malfoy said dryly, "I'd hate to get in the way of you talking about me behind my back. Is it all right to go upstairs, or should I just stick my fingers in my ears?"

"The coast is clear," Harry said. Mrs. Weasley was the only person in the house they had to worry about, and he doubted she would be back out that night. "Go."

Malfoy gave Lupin a smug smirk and started off for the stairs.

Lupin waited until he was gone before turning back to Harry. "I don't think I need to remind you of what he is."

"No, you don't," Harry said, "but if he was going to run away, he would have already."

"Be that as it may, it's not our job to make him comfortable. Make no mistake, I didn't offer to do this for him. I did it to make things easier on you."

Harry blinked. "_Easier?_ Do you really think this was _easier?_"

"As I see it, you didn't have to do much."

"No, I just had to sit here wondering if you'd gotten yourself caught."

Lupin opened his mouth, but paused for a moment, as though to rethink what he was going to say. Finally, he just shook his head and handed Harry the cloak. "This isn't the time or the place for this. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

Harry had not quite burned off his anger yet, but he still put up no argument. Lupin threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, stepping back in. "Grimmauld Place!"

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the beginnings of a headache. He glanced toward the stairs, grimacing. The last thing he wanted was to go back up to his room, but he knew he had to. This was not over until he knew that Malfoy was safely upstairs.

He had no cause for concern, however. He made it back to his room without meeting a single person on the stairs. He did not see Malfoy inside, but he heard the muffled sounds of the shower running in the bathroom. He took the opportunity to go to the wardrobe, shifting things around and hiding the Invisibility Cloak in the very back. He knew there was very little chance that Malfoy would try to steal it, but he did not want to take any chances.

Harry moved back over to his bed, collapsing onto it. He had no particular need or desire to sleep again, but his head was killing him, the pain centering around his scar. Pressure was building in his skull, as though someone was squeezing his brain. He threw his arm over his eyes, taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep himself alert. He still had no idea how to do Occlumency, but he was determined not to let Voldemort pull him down without a fight.

Finally, after a long wait, the pain eased to a dull ache, and Harry let his muscles go limp, but his mind remained on edge. He knew that it would only be a short reprieve. If Voldemort truly was trying to break into his mind, then he would keep trying until Harry fell asleep and became vulnerable to him.

Harry was not sure how long he lay there. He barely registered when the sound of running water stopped. When he heard the door swing open, however, he sat up at once, not wanting to show any hint of weakness to Malfoy.

"No reason to get excited, Potter," Malfoy said slyly. "I'm already dressed."

Harry's eyes, however, had focused on Malfoy's left arm, where he was clumsily winding his bandages back up. Something was nagging in his mind, but at the same time, his scar was starting to itch again, and he could not quite retrieve the memory.

Malfoy froze and followed Harry's gaze. A moment of silence passed, in which a variety of emotions passed over Malfoy's face, from confusion to realization with a hint of fear. Then, he looked up suddenly, smirking. "Oops."

Harry had just a glimpse of Malfoy advancing toward him when pain exploded in his scar. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting desperately against the force that threatened to pull him under. Distantly, he felt hands close over his wrists, and he was falling backwards.

The pain lifted and Harry's eyes snapped open. He found himself lying on his back, Malfoy staring down at him. He twisted around, trying desperately to get away, but Malfoy had his legs trapped underneath him. Somehow, Harry's arms were also pinned over his head, though Malfoy's own hands were currently planted on either side of Harry. Harry tried again to free himself, but Malfoy's legs locked around his.

"Now, it's no fun if you're going to be like that," Malfoy said in a condescending tone. He reached down and slowly began to unbuckle Harry's belt, never once taking his eyes off Harry's face. Once he had Harry's trousers undone, he leaned forward, and at the same moment, plunged his hand into Harry's pants.

Fire seared through Harry's veins just as another bolt of pain lanced through his head, and he broke off the kiss prematurely, his back arching. His mind was being pulled in two different directions, Voldemort standing at one end, Malfoy at the other, and the last of his rationality was slowly ebbing away. Harry gripped his pillow tightly between his fingers, throwing all of his strength into keeping himself conscious.

The pain began to ebb away again, and he slowly sank back down on to the bed, his eyes still closed. He felt Malfoy's lips brush over his and he lifted his head to kiss back, hardly caring who it was anymore. He just needed some anchor to tell him that he was still there.

All too soon, Malfoy drew back. "That's better," he said. Harry felt the hold on his wrists loosen and his arms drifted limply to his sides. When Malfoy reached down to lift his shirt over his head, he barely noticed, too wrapped up in wondering how long it would be before the next assault.

A sudden pressure lifting him up, however, forced Harry to turn part of his attention back to reality. Malfoy had shifted his weight off of Harry and started to roll him over onto his stomach. Harry's breath hitched in his chest and he struggled, kicking backwards blindly. The grip on his arms tightened and one final shove sent him onto his stomach, his face pressing against his pillow so hard he could hardly breathe. Malfoy was straddling his legs once again, and he had Harry's arms pinned behind his back.

When Harry tried to fight his way out again, Malfoy pushed up on his hands with enough force to make him wince. "I wouldn't be doing that if I were you."

Harry hardly heard him as he tried to wrench free. His mind was still muddled, but one thought rang clear through the fog. He could not let Malfoy win.

Malfoy, who seemed to be having trouble keeping his grip, shifted his hold of Harry's arms to one hand. A moment later, Harry felt something sharp poke into his back. His head cleared instantly as he registered what it was, and his blood ran cold.

"Not so fun when you're not the one in control," Malfoy said, dragging his wand over Harry's back in slow, serpentine patterns, "is it, Potter?"

"I'll yell." The force of Malfoy pushing Harry down put so much pressure on his lungs, he could barely speak. "Someone will hear me."

The wand stopped in its tracks and lifted. "I don't think you will. Imagine, your friends staring, wondering how you could have let this happen to you."

Harry gave a sharp tug against Malfoy's grasp, but all he received for his trouble was a spasm through the muscles in his back and he collapsed again. The grip on his arms released, but he noticed that he still could not move them. As he felt his trousers slowly being pulled down, he clenched his teeth together, fighting to keep his expression blank. He would not give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing him react. Time seemed to stretch into infinity as he felt Malfoy shifting around behind him and heard the sound of a zipper. He felt something warm and wet on his backside and shuddered involuntarily.

Then, Malfoy leaned in closer, warm, naked skin pressing against Harry's back. "Don't tense up, Potter," he whispered, his hot breath washing over Harry's ear, sending a shiver down his spine. The voice sounded far away. "You're only making it worse for yourself."

But even as Harry felt a low, dull pain beginning to form, another, more immediate agony exploded in his head. Thrown off guard, his teeth clenched painfully tight, turning his scream into a strangled, pitiful sound. He tried to fight, but it was too late, and he sunk into darkness.

Harry stared at the dancing shadows the torches made on the walls, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. "Ah, here he is now." A cruel smile played over his lips as he turned on his heel. "Say hello, Arthur."

The red-haired man hung naked on the wall before him, chains around his wrists the only thing keeping him upright. He was barely recognizable, every inch of his skin covered in filth, what little hair he had plastered to the sides of his head. Nevertheless, he glared at Harry with eyes that were very much alive and full of contempt.

Harry shook his head with a mock sadness. "I was under the impression that you cared for the boy." He took a few steps to one side, looking at the wall. He felt a steady beat in his head, as though someone were fighting to get out, but it was so feeble he met it with only vague amusement. He turned back, stepping up to Mr. Weasley. "I could bring him forward," he said in a soft tone. "I'm sure you have a lot of...catching up to do."

Mr. Weasley's eyes flashed, and he spat in Harry's face. "Go to hell," he rasped through lips that were cracked and bleeding.

Harry stepped back, raising his hand to wipe the spit off his cheek. Yet, he still felt only mildly amused. "Still resisting," he commented. "Admirable, certainly, but foolish. Even Harry knew when to give up better than you do."

"You're lying!" Mr. Weasley snapped, though his voice wavered slightly. "Harry would never—"

A flicker of triumph filled Harry. "Is that right?" He stepped forward again. "I dropped in on quite a show tonight. I could go back and give you some more..._detail_." He moved back with one swift motion as Mr. Weasley lunged toward him, straining against the chains.

"My Lord?" a hesitant voice said from behind.

Harry reluctantly turned from the spectacle to address the man who had just entered the cell. "This had better be important, Rookwood. Have you found him?"

"W...we have reason to believe he may be trying to contact someone by Floo," Rookwood stuttered, "Someone in Devon. We tried to trace him back, but he had wards up."

Harry considered this for a moment. "Have your men watch the Network around the area. You may yet redeem yourself, R..." Harry felt a sudden rush of pleasure through his body and his muscles seized up, his eyes closing. For a moment, a sideways image of a bedroom, partially obscured by a pillow, flashed through his mind.

"My Lord?"

Harry chuckled quietly under his breath and looked back at Mr. Weasley. "When you collect our next prisoner, bring him to me," he said. "I have a message to send to dear Harry."

Mr. Weasley threw himself forward again. "Harry, don't! It's a trap! You have to find—"

Harry raised his wand at once. "_Crucio!_"

Pain shot through Harry's head, and he cried out, his voice muffled by the pillow smashed against his face. A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and flipped him over, shaking him violently. Harry tried desperately to wrench free, kicking his legs.

"Potter?_Potter!_"

Harry's eyes flew open, and he blinked until Malfoy's face came into focus. He stared, confusion filling his mind, along with lingering images of Mr. Weasley hanging on the wall, writhing in pain.

"If I knew you were going to have a fit, Potter, I would've gone easier on you."

The rest of what happened came rushing back to Harry, and he shoved Malfoy away, climbing off the bed and hastily buttoning his trousers. He opened his mouth, but only gaped, unable to find words vile enough for what Malfoy had done to him. He was sore all over, and an uncomfortable warmth lingered in places where Malfoy had touched him.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Malfoy said, standing up. He had tucked his wand into the waistband of his trousers. "I did you a favor."

"_Favor?_" Harry could hardly believe his ears. "How the fuck do you get off calling that a _favor?!_"

"Well, you were looking a little tense, Potter. I thought you could do with some loosening up. Clearly you're wound up tighter than I thought."

"That's_it_!" Harry growled, marching toward the door in a blind fury. "I'm done with this! The Order can have you!"

A streak of white light shot past, just inches from his face, and hit the door before he reached it. "I can't let you do that," Malfoy said.

Harry tried the doorknob, though he knew it was no use, and whirled around to face Malfoy, whose wand was still pointed in his direction. Harry's eyes darted around the room.

"Looking for this?" Malfoy reached down toward his thigh, drawing Harry's wand seemingly out of an invisible holster. "You really should keep better track of it."

An image of Dumbledore kneeling on the roof before Malfoy flashed through Harry's mind, and he stood up straight, finally able to reform his face into a calm mask. "Are you going to kill me then?" he asked. "Because you can't keep me here forever."

Malfoy blinked and lowered his wand. "Didn't I tell you once before? If I wanted you dead, you would be already." With a flick of his wrist, he sent Harry's wand skidding across the floor toward him.

Harry hesitated. Then, he crouched down slowly to retrieve the wand, keeping an eye on Malfoy in case he tried to pull something. Malfoy did not move, however, save for his eyes, which watched Harry just as closely.

"I'm still turning you in," Harry said, though he made no further move for the door. Instead, he raised his wand to point at Malfoy.

"I don't think you will."

The familiar words sent a cold wave through Harry's veins, but he kept his face blank. "And what makes you say that?"

"Because I'll tell them about this."

Harry's hand wavered. "You're lying."

"After everything I've done, people will be lining up to kill me. What do I have to lose?"

"It doesn't matter. They won't believe you." Harry winced slightly when he realized how unconvincing he sounded.

"Most of them won't," Malfoy admitted, "but a few will wonder. And the werewolf, he'll know. I don't think he'll be so keen on keeping your dirty little secret this time. No, poor, fragile Harry Potter will have to be locked away for his own good."

"Shut up!" Harry said, taking a step forward. "You don't know anything!"

Malfoy just smirked. "You'll find I know quite a lot, actually. More than you, I daresay." He took a step backwards, tucking his wand into his belt, and spread his arms out to either side. "You want your revenge, Potter? Take it."

Harry nearly lost his grip on his wand. "What?"

Malfoy dropped his hands. "Not so easy, is it? Here, I'll make it simple for you." He drew his wand again and flicked it twice. The chessboard came skidding across the floor, followed by a rush of black and white pieces, which arranged themselves into neat little piles. "One game. You win, I spend the rest of the night in the wardrobe. I win, we retire to our corners and call it a night."

This time, Harry lowered his wand. "I'm not going to lock you in the wardrobe," he said.

"I quite agree." Malfoy settled down on the floor and started setting up the game. "Make your move."

Harry stared for a moment, then shook himself, backing away. "I'm not playing, Malfoy."

Malfoy looked up at him and shrugged. "You lose, then."

Harry tore his eyes away and went to the door, waving his wand to unlock it. He made his way downstairs, unaware of where he was going, knowing only that it was far away from here. He made it out of the house without meeting anyone and marched across the front yard. He could barely see a thing, but that hardly mattered. He headed toward an old shed on the outskirts of the property, deciding it was just as good a place as any to be alone.

As Harry slowed his pace, all his frustration caught up with him in one rush. Letting out a growl, he slammed his fists against the wall of the shed, ignoring the splinters that bit into his skin with every swing.

Something moved out of the corner of his eyes, and he stopped, his hands frozen mid-swing. A cloaked figure was walking slowly along the edge of the property, it's hand held up as though resting against an invisible wall between it and Harry.

Harry stepped back from the shed and drew his wand. The figure showed no sign of noticing him, continuing its trek. After several moments, it finally dropped its hand, glanced to either side, and then Disapparated with a loud crack.

Harry blinked at the spot where it had disappeared. Was it just an Order member checking to make sure the wards were working? The idea seemed plausible, but it did not explain the secrecy or the cloak. But if it was a Death Eater, why would they have waited until now if they were planning to attack? And why send only one?

Still feeling distinctly unsettled, but not wanting to go back inside, Harry sat down, leaning his back against the wall of the shed. His entire body ached and his hands stung, but he ignored the pain, keeping a tight grip on his wand. For the rest of the night, he sat sentry, eyes peeled for any sign of life beyond the Weasleys' property line. He knew there was next to no chance of anyone getting past the wards, but it was nice to have something to focus on. Anything to distract him from his thoughts.

-

"Harry!"

Harry gave a jolt and opened his eyes into bright, morning sunlight. He had drifted off, his knees drawn to his chest, his head bowed forward slightly. His muscles screamed in protest as he straightened them out. He had dropped his wand sometime during the night, so he hunted around in the grass for it. When he found it, he struggled to pick it up, his arms feeling oddly numb and heavy from the elbows down. By the time he looked up again, Ron was heading toward him.

"There you are. What're you doing out here?"

"I..." Harry blinked several times, shaking his head to try to clear some of the fog. "I couldn't sleep."

"Mum's worrying herself into a fit," Ron said. He offered a hand and, without thinking, Harry reached up to take it. Ron gave a tug, yanking him up onto his feet, but he made no move to let go. Instead, he just stared down, his eyes widening. "What happened?"

Harry followed Ron's gaze down to his arms, which were covered in bruises and tiny cuts. His hands were the worst, the skin inflamed and swollen. "It's nothing," Harry muttered, pulling out of his grasp.

"Nothing?" Ron gaped at him. Then, his eyes drifted toward a spot on the wall of the shed that was more splintered and cracked than the rest. "Did you—?"

"We'd better go inside," Harry said. As he turned in the direction of the house, however, he stopped dead in his tracks, looking up toward his room. He could just make out the form of a person standing by the window, staring down at them. A cold grip seized his heart, but he forced himself to look away and trudged up toward the house, not even looking back to see if Ron was following.

If Harry had known what was to greet him at the door, he would have thought twice about leaving the house the night before. The moment he walked in, Mrs. Weasley threw her arms around him, hugging him so tightly he could hardly breathe. To his great relief, she let go quickly and began to fuss over his arms, pulling out her wand to heal the cuts and bruises. When she asked how it happened, he told her that he fell down. She narrowed her eyes and turned to Ron as though to confirm the story. To his credit, Ron just nodded along, though he gave Harry a reproachful look as he did so.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked after silence had stretched on for a while, desperate for a change of subject.

"She didn't look well," Mrs. Weasley said, moving over to the stove, where she already had breakfast prepared, "so I sent her back upstairs to rest."

Ron seemed to be trying to get Harry's attention again. When Mrs. Weasley's back was turned, he jerked his head at the ceiling. Harry nodded his understanding and spoke. "We'll take her breakfast up to her."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "All right, but try not to catch what she has. I don't need to be bringing breakfast to all of you." She piled eggs and toast on plates, setting them on a tray with a pot of tea.

Once she had finished, Harry picked up the tray and followed Ron out. "What are we dealing with?" he asked once they were out of earshot.

Ron shook his head. "I don't know, but there's no way she's sick. The way she was acting...it's like she was on something."

Harry did not reply, quickening his pace. He abandoned the tray about halfway up the stairs, and the pair of them took off at a run. When they arrived on Hermione's floor, Ron knocked rapidly on her door. There was no reply. "Hermione?" he called, breathing heavily and clutching a stitch in his side. He tried the door, but it was locked. He turned to Harry, who nodded, and they drew their wands. "We're coming in! _Alohomora!_"

The scene that met their eyes made them freeze in their tracks. Hermione was sitting cross-legged in the corner, slightly hunched over. She was still in her dressing gown, which was wrinkled and disheveled. Her face, partially obscured by her hair, was ghastly white, her eyes wide open, unfocused, and staring. In her arms, she held the Hufflepuff cup tightly to her chest, and she was rocking slowly backward and forward.

Ron recovered first, taking a tentative step forward. "Hermione?"

Nothing.

"We have to get that thing away from her," Harry said in an undertone.

"I'll take it," Ron said. "You hold her back in case she tries to come after me." He started forward, but Harry caught his arm.

"This thing probably works through direct contact," he said.

Ron nodded and grabbed the sheets off the bed. Then, he and Harry moved slowly toward Hermione, approaching from the right and left respectively. She still showed no reaction. Harry nodded once, and Ron cautiously knelt down in front of her. He wrapped the sheet around his hands and reached out.

Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes blazing, and she took a swing at Ron. Caught off guard, he fell to one side. Harry dropped to his knees, grabbing Hermione by the shoulders to hold her still. "Ron!"

Ron finally managed to untangle himself from the sheet and dove forward. He seized the cup and wrenched it from her grasp, propelling himself away. Hermione tried to lean forward, but Harry threw his weight into holding her back, wincing as she kicked him. "Go!" he shouted.

Ron scampered out of the room. Once the door had shut, Harry turned his attention back to Hermione, shaking her shoulders. "Hermione!"

She stopped at once, as though she had been slapped, and slowly raised her head, her mouth hanging open. "H...H..." Her eyes rolled in her head, and her arms and legs jerked suddenly. Startled, Harry let go, and she slid onto the floor, her entire body convulsing.

The episode lasted for only a few moments, but it seemed an eternity. When it was over, she lay unconscious, breathing erratically.

"Hermione?" Harry touched her arm lightly, but he got no response. He sat back on his heels, trying to force his panicked mind to think.

It did not take Ron long to return. He hurried over at once, kneeling at Hermione's side. "What happened?"

"She had a fit," Harry said, trying to steady his voice. "We'd better get her to the bed." Not even thinking to use their wands, they slid their arms under Hermione's, lifting her up off the ground. They carried her across the room and, as gently as possible, lowered her onto the bed.

"Look," Harry said, carefully turning over Hermione's arms. The inner potion of her arms and the palms of her hands were covered in bright red splotches where the cup had touched her skin. "We should probably—what are you...?" Harry trailed off as Ron reached out toward Hermione's shirt, which had ridden up slightly, and pulled the fabric back further. A patch of the skin on her stomach was also a deep scarlet, the center so dark it was nearly purple.

"What did that thing do to her?" Ron muttered, lightly touching the inflamed skin. As though responding to the contact, Hermione moaned and started to shift around. He quickly dropped the shirt back over her stomach and took her hand. "Hermione?"

Her eyes opened in slits. She opened her mouth, but sucked in a hissing breath as she tried to move her arms, her muscles tensing up. After a few moments, she finally calmed again. "Ron?" she whispered, turning her head toward him.

"Yeah?"

"Did...did I hurt you?"

Ron smiled and shook his head. "No."

"So you remember what happened?" Harry asked.

She stared at the ceiling. "Bits and pieces. It's still a little blurry. Where's the cup?"

"It's hidden," Harry said simply, giving Ron a look of warning.

Hermione nodded. "Probably for the best." She sighed and closed her eyes, her head drifting to one side.

Harry caught Ron's eye and jerked his head at the door. With obvious reluctance, Ron released Hermione's hand and followed him out, glancing back the whole way.

"Where did you put the cup?" Harry asked once the door was shut.

"I stuck it in Percy's old wardrobe," Ron said. "Nobody'll be going in there anytime soon."

"Good thinking."

"So, now what?"

Harry hesitated, glancing around. "We can't really do anything until she wakes up," he said. "You can go back in if you want. I'll think of something to tell your mum."

"Thanks."

Harry waited until Ron had disappeared back into the room and started downstairs. He found the tray he'd abandoned and retrieved it. When he reached his floor, he stopped and opened the door of his room just far enough to push a plate in. He shut the door quickly, not wanting to deal with Malfoy just yet. He continued on down to the kitchen, which was, thankfully, empty. A note on the table explained that Mrs. Weasley had been called away for an Order meeting and told them to be around the fireplace that evening to let her back in. Harry went to the sitting room and settled down on the couch, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace.

He had noticed that Hermione was acting strange. She must have been carrying the Horcrux around in her old school bag to keep it close. If only he had done something about it, this might never have happened. But he had been too wrapped up in his own problems to bother.

Harry realized that his hands were shaking and folded them across his chest. With every passing moment, he felt as though he lost another piece of his sanity. There were too many thoughts in his head screaming for attention: Hermione, Malfoy, Voldemort, Mr. Weasley... He could hardly distinguish between them anymore.

_Poor, fragile Harry Potter will have to be locked away for his own good_. Harry's hands clenched so tightly his fingernails dug into his palms. Was Malfoy right? If people knew what had happened, what was going through Harry's head right now, would they ever be able to look at him the same? Or would they just lock him away, afraid that he'd do something stupid and get himself, or worse, someone else hurt.

A sudden flurry of movement in the fireplace made Harry sit bolt upright. He could have sworn he saw a cloaked head appear, but it vanished too quickly for him to be sure. He stared for a few more moments, but he saw nothing further. Reminding himself that no one could get in with the wards up, he stood. Even as he started up the stairs, however, he could not help but glance back to make sure the fireplace was still empty.

"Your mum's at Grimmauld Place," Harry muttered when he got back to Hermione's room. Ron, who had taken up sentry in a chair next to the bed, just nodded mutely and turned his eyes immediately back to her.

Harry pulled a chair up on the other side of the bed and sat down, hunching forward with his hands clasped together. He could not bring himself to look at Hermione, so he stared at the floor.

It was late morning before Hermione woke up again. She seemed much more coherent this time, asking first for a glass of water. Harry got it for her while Ron helped her sit up. She took a few sips and stared down at the surface, as though it held all the secrets in the world. "I'm sorry," she said finally.

"What?" Ron said.

"I should've known. We saw what it did to Anya, and she only had it for a day."

"She was like that before she got the cup," Harry pointed out. "You couldn't have known."

She did not speak again for a moment, still refusing to look at either of them. Then, she shakily set the glass on the table. "Does Mrs. Weasley know?"

Harry shook his head. "She just thinks you're sick."

She gave a small smile. "Good. I'm still a little tired. I think I'm going to try to get some more sleep."

So, Harry and Ron said their goodbyes, promising to bring lunch in a couple of hours, and headed downstairs. Along the way, Harry told Ron about the person he saw creeping around outside the night before and the head in the fireplace.

"You didn't see who it was?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. "I don't even know if it was the same person."

"I hate to think there's two people trying to break in."

Harry wholeheartedly agreed. Whenever he tried to think of who it might be, his mind continuously returned to Aberforth Dumbledore. He had broken into Grimmauld Place after all. Maybe he had not found what he was looking for there and decided to look here instead. But why had he waited until now? If he had tried just a couple days earlier, he probably could have slipped in before the wards were finished.

The rest of the morning and much of the afternoon passed without consequence. Hermione woke up just long enough to eat some soup for lunch before going right back to sleep. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron spent most of their day in silence. Once in a while, one of them would mention something they could do to pass the time, such as chess or Quidditch, but the conversation always died there.

Finally, in the early evening, when Harry felt as though he would go mad from another moment of silence, the fireplace flared up and Mrs. Weasley's face appeared. Ron got to his feet immediately and went to the painting, lifting the wards to let her in.

"Sorry I had to leave like that," she said, shaking the soot from of her robes. "Is Hermione feeling better?"

Harry nodded. "She was sleeping last time we looked in on her."

"Well, why don't you two go see if she feels well enough to come down for dinner?"

So, Harry and Ron went back upstairs yet again, knocked softly on Hermione's door, and pushed it open. To their surprise, Hermione was wide awake. She had retrieved five books from her trunk and spread them out on her bed. Currently, she was pouring over a massive volume that must have been a thousand pages long, writing furiously on a piece of parchment that was already covered in hurried scribbles and sketches. Her face was screwed up in concentration, her breath coming out in short spurts.

"Hermione?" Harry said tentatively.

She jumped, leaving a large ink spot on the parchment, and looked up. "Oh, hi."

"We thought you were sleeping," Ron said, looking a bit alarmed by her behavior.

She shook her head, turning her attention back to the notes, a manic glint in her eye. "I can't. Not now. I have to figure this out."

"Figure what out?" When Ron received no reply, he snatched the quill out of her hand. "You're supposed to be resting."

"You don't understand. I _can't_. I'm starting to remember and...I saw his soul, Ron. I _saw_ it."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked as calmly as he could before Ron could speak again.

Hermione sighed leaning against her headboard. "It happened this morning, right after Mrs. Weasley sent me back up here. I was staring at the cup...I've been doing that a lot lately...and suddenly, it just...it started glowing." She stared off in the distance with glazed eyes, as though recalling some wonderful dream. "I looked into the cup, and I could see him."

"Like a reflection?" Ron asked.

She shook her head. "He was _part_ of the cup. I don't know how else to explain it."

"Is that why you were hugging it?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "I could hear him talking to me. Parseltongue," she added when they gave her a questioning look. "I had no idea what he was saying but...I just felt like I had to protect him. I _wanted_ to protect him."

Ron reached out and squeezed her hand. "We'll figure out how to destroy it," he said.

Harry would have let them be, but the thought that had just occurred to him was too important to wait. "Until we do," he said, "maybe one of us should take the locket. Who knows what kind of spells are on that thing?"

Hermione looked up at him suddenly and, for a moment, he thought she was going to refuse. Then, her shoulders slumped. "It's in the desk."

Harry went to the desk, opening the drawer. He shifted the parchment around until he saw the necklace and pulled it out, staring at it. The golden locket hung from it's long chain, much heavier than he remembered, glinting in the sunlight, the serpentine S burning like a brand.

"Harry?" Hermione said.

He snapped back to reality and hastily pocketed the locket. "Probably best we keep it separate from the cup," he said. "I'll find somewhere to hide it." Ron and Hermione we're still giving him an odd look, so he forced a smile. "We should probably head downstairs."

Getting Hermione down to the kitchen was easier said than done. Though she was not nearly as tired as she had been earlier, her coordination was off. She was fine walking with the other two supporting her, but she stumbled whenever she tried to take a few steps on her own. Harry was forcibly reminded of Malfoy's problems while recovering from his infection, and he nearly fell down the stairs himself.

By the time they arrived in the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley already had the table set. "I only meant for you to come down if you were feeling better," she said as she pressed a hand over Hermione's forehead.

"Oh, I'm feeling much better," Hermione insisted. It might have been more convincing, but she was still red in the face and breathless from the trip downstairs.

Mrs. Weasley just smiled and took her seat, though she continued to keep a close watch on Hermione.

"So, what did the Order want?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food.

"Kingsley called the meeting to discuss security at the Carrows' trial tomorrow," Mrs. Weasley said.

"Do they think the Death Eaters will try to attack?"

"It's unlikely, but we can't be too careful."

"Did Kingsley say anything else?" Harry asked. "Is there any more news on Snape?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. The Aurors have been keeping an eye on the house they infiltrated last week. Apparently there's been a lot of people snooping around, looting mostly. At any rate, the Ministry has identified the potions they found as Extraction Potions, but we don't know—"

There was a loud clatter as Hermione dropped her fork. All color had drained from her face and her eyes were glazed.

"Are you all right?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just...I'm not feeling well." She got out of her chair and stumbled out of the room.

Mrs. Weasley clicked her tongue and stood up to start clearing the table. "Too much excitement."

"I'll go see if she's okay," Ron said.

Harry wanted to go too, but he did not want to make Mrs. Weasley suspicious. So, he stayed behind and helped her with the dishes. Ron returned within a few moments. "She locked herself in the loo," he said in an undertone to Harry.

Hermione did not return until much later, when the others were in the sitting room. "Sorry," she said, collapsing onto the couch. Her face was tinged pink, and she still looked ill.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "The chicken was probably too much for your stomach. Would you like me to make you some tea?"

Hermione shook her head, seeming more nauseous at the idea. "No thanks."

Conversation was light for the rest of the evening. Mrs. Weasley spent much of that time giving Harry pointers for how to dress and behave at the trial. "Wear nice Muggle clothes," she said. "And don't slouch." She also insisted that he go to bed early so he would be ready to leave when Kingsley arrived.

Ron, who had been yawning for the past hour, got up too and offered Hermione a hand, but she shook her head. "I'm not really tired yet," she said. "I'll go up in a bit."

"Okay," Mrs. Weasley said, "but if you're still not feeling well in an hour or so, I want you to sleep here. Don't try walking up the stairs on your own."

Hermione nodded and bid them goodnight. As the other two headed upstairs, Harry hung back a bit, glancing at Hermione. She was staring at the fireplace now, her eyes unfocused.

Reluctantly, he turned away and started up the stairs with slow, heavy footsteps. He had somehow managed to go for a few hours without thinking about what happened the previous night, but it all came crashing back to him now, consuming his mind. He felt like a condemned man about to meet his fate. With every step, the walls seemed to be closing in on him. By the time he reached his door, his blood was pounding in his ears, and he wanted nothing more than to turn around and run in the other direction. But he had to push past this. He could not let Malfoy win. So, he took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The tray that Harry had left that morning was still by the door, the eggs untouched. Instinctively, he looked toward the corner, and, sure enough, that's where he found Malfoy. He was hunched over, slowly chewing on a piece of toast, the half-filled plate sitting beside him. When Harry entered, he looked up. "Is this your new game, Potter?" he asked. "Planning to starve me?"

Harry blinked. "I didn't...I forgot."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Right." He took another bite of the old toast and tossed it back on the plate, standing up. "If you want revenge, take it. Don't pull this passive-aggressive crap."

"Contrary to what you might think, the world doesn't revolve around you," Harry snapped, glancing around. "Where's your wand?"

"Hidden," Malfoy replied, folding his arms over his chest.

"Hand it over."

"I've had it for over a week. If I was going to attack you, I would have already."

"Yeah? What would you call last night, then?"

Malfoy laughed. "Good for you, Potter. You've passed the denial stage. About damn time, too."

Harry drew his wand. "I'm not playing games. Give me your wand."

Malfoy's eyes flickered briefly, but he stood his ground. "You don't have the nerve."

"Are you sure about that? You said I wouldn't attack until you'd really pissed me off. Well, congratulations. You succeeded."

"No, I didn't. If I had, we wouldn't still be talking."

Harry's grip on his wand tightened. He was itching to wipe the smirk off Malfoy's face, but every curse in his mind seemed to be evading him. Growling under his breath, he went to sit on the edge of his bed, glaring at the floor. His thoughts were starting to bleed together again, even worse than they had earlier.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up to see Malfoy standing over him. "So, what's it going to be?" Malfoy asked. When he got no answer, he smirked and leaned in.

Harry tried to pull back, but he was too slow. His breath hitched in his chest as Malfoy's lips closed over his. He felt hands pushing him back onto the bed and knew he should fight it, but he could not bring himself to. He was so tired of fighting. As Malfoy started to pull his shirt up, Harry welcomed the haze that filled his mind, clearing away the jumbled thoughts that had threatened to drive him mad.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. I'm always very eager to hear the readers' thoughts, especially in chapters like this. Next chapter: former classmates, Death Eaters' relatives, and attempted murder. The Carrows' trial is underway, Harry's visions are out of control, and Hermione makes a breakthrough. I'll tell you all right off the bat, Draco's part is going to be practically nonexistent in the next chapter out of sheer necessity. Also, updates are going to start getting more unpredictable now. My posting has finally caught up with my writing. I'll update as soon as I am able to. Have a happy weekend, folks.


	18. Chapter 18: The Trial

Author's Note: Many thanks to all reviewers. People have been bringing up some very smart questions. Since I don't want to take up too much space here, I've done a short Q & A in my LiveJournal. My sign-in name there is pottersister666, and it's the entry posted on November 16, 2007. I strongly recommend that all readers look it over, especially those who had questions/issues with the last chapter.

Now for the notes on this chapter. I was strongly tempted to subtitle this chapter with "Harry falls down...a lot." While I was typing it, I came to refer to it as "the necessary evil." I've attempted to par it down to just the parts that are either important to the overall plot or that I thought readers would find most interesting. Since we don't know much about the way wizarding trials work, I had to type quite a lot of this on the fly, and it is heavily influenced by _Law and Order_. If there's something that doesn't fit in with the British legal system, I'm tempted to just throw my hands in the air and say, "Maybe wizards do it differently." I would also like to give a shout out to my friend Rani for helping me come up with names for Parvati's parents. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 18: The Trial

When Harry awoke into the dark room, the first thing he noticed was the sound of slow, steady breathing. He glanced to his left and found Malfoy fast asleep beside him, facing the wall. He reached for his glasses, carefully untangled himself from the sheets, and stood. He retrieved clean clothes from his trunk and headed for the bathroom, not daring to look back.

It took only a few minutes in the shower to wash away the evidence of the previous night, but Harry continued to scrub every bit of skin he could reach, turning the water temperature up until his skin burned red. By the time he shut the shower off, he was breathing heavily, his hand braced against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. This was a nightmare. Any minute now, he would wake up.

But he did not. After a few moments, his shoulders slumped in defeat, and he stepped out of the shower.

He dressed as quickly as he could, wincing as the fabric rubbed against tender skin, and left the bathroom. He managed to sneak across the room again without waking Malfoy up and headed downstairs.

To his surprise, he did not find the sitting room empty. Hermione lay curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace in a fitful sleep. Harry crossed the room and crouched down beside her, gently shaking her shoulder. "Hermione?"

She moaned softly, and her eyes fluttered open. "W..." She looked around as though trying to figure out what she was doing there.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm...I'm fine. I must've dozed off." She still looked intensely confused.

Harry helped her stand and led her into the kitchen. He made a pot of tea, pouring out cups for each of them. Neither made a move to drink it, however, just sitting across from each other in silence.

Mrs. Weasley came in not long after dawn and fussed over both of them. "You're very pale," she said, resting a hand against Harry's forehead. "I hope you're not catching it, too."

By the time Ron arrived, breakfast was out on the table. He glanced at Hermione and gave Harry a questioning look, but neither dared speak in front of Mrs. Weasley. After they were finished eating, she hurried them into the sitting room.

They did not have long to wait. Kingsley's head appeared in the fireplace only minutes later, looking extremely agitated. "It's a madhouse down here," he said. "We should get going now if we're going to get you all through security in time."

"Change of plans, Kingsley," Mrs. Weasley said. "Hermione's been ill. I have to stay here with her."

"No, that's okay," Hermione said. "You can go. I'll be fine."

"Don't be silly, dear. Ron will go with him."

Ron nodded, exchanging a look with Hermione, who seemed to calm down a bit. Harry glanced in the other direction, his agitation rising. He wished they would stop acting as though he was a child.

"Let's go, then," Kingsley said. "You'll want to aim for the Atrium. There's a bit of a bottleneck down there right now. You might get jostled around a bit, but don't let it throw you off. Get yourselves through security, and I'll meet you by the lift." He disappeared into the flames.

"Be careful," Mrs. Weasley said, giving them each a quick hug. "Don't talk to anyone you don't know."

Harry and Ron said their goodbyes and stepped up to the fireplace. "I'll go first," Ron said. He threw a handful of Floo Powder in. "Ministry of Magic Atrium!"

Harry took a deep breath and followed suit. The green flames enveloped him, and he fell, whizzing past fireplaces too fast to see any of them. As he neared his exit, he felt things hitting him lightly from all sides, as though people were bumping into him. He ignored it, trying to focus on the fireplaces.

When he stepped out, a sharp blow to the small of his back made him stumble forward, bumping into a tall, burly wizard standing inches in front of him. "Watch it!" the man said gruffly. Harry looked around to see a stout, middle-aged witch with thick glasses standing right behind him, leading along two boys who looked to be about four years old. She did not even seem to have noticed bumping into him.

Harry rubbed his head, trying to ward off a headache. "Ron?" he called, but his voice was drowned out by the noise of the crowd. The Atrium was packed from wall-to-wall with people, all jostling each other in an attempt to get to the other side of the room. He felt another push behind him and moved forward with the crowd, craning his neck to see if he could spot a red head among the masses.

He was about halfway across the room when it happened. Someone to bumped into his arm roughly, and his scar exploded in pain, sending to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and an image of the crowd flashed through his mind. Before he could even think about what it meant, something smacked him in the back of the head, and stars exploded behind his eyelids. A moment later, he felt someone grab the back of his robes.

"Get up, Potter." Moody hauled him to his feet and pulled him along, forcing their way through the surging crowd. Harry barely noticed. He looked around wildly, but he had no way of knowing who it was who bumped into him.

"Wand, please."

Moody took Harry's wand and shoved into the hand of the man working the security stand. "Harry Potter and Alastor Moody," he said. When the wands were registered, he snatched them back and hurried Harry forward into the next hall, where, if possible, it was even more crowded.

"Harry!" Ron made his way toward them, squeezing between a rather weedy-looking witch and the burly man that Harry had run into before. "We must've gotten different fireplaces!" he shouted over the noise.

"I'll leave you two here," Moody said. "I'm on crowd control. Don't let yourselves get separated again." He set off across the room, shouting at two young men who were fighting a few yards away.

Ron opened his mouth again, but he was cut off by a sudden, booming voice that swept over the crowd. "Witnesses to the lift! Repeat, witnesses to the lift!"

Harry gave Ron a quick look to let him know that they needed to talk and started forward. Even with the announcement, everyone was still shoving to get ahead. Harry and Ron fought through them, each making sure not to lose sight of the other.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they broke free into a small clearing just in front of the lift, which was already nearly full. The area was only kept clear by the guards on either side of the lift doors, their wands pointed threateningly at the crowd. The one on the left had a scroll in his hand. "Names?" he said.

"Harry Potter."

"Ron Weasley."

The man scanned the parchment and narrowed his eyes at Ron. "You're not on the list. Get back with the others."

"It's all right, Conley." Kingsley appeared from the crowd to Harry's right. "Let him through."

The guard gave Ron another nasty look, but nodded. Kingsley herded Harry and Ron onto the lift squeezing in behind them. The doors slid shut after them and the lift began to descend.

In stark contrast to the noise outside, the people here were dead silent. As Harry looked around, he saw only one person he knew. Neville Longbottom stood off to one side, pressed flat against the wall. When he spotted Harry and Ron, he gave a slight nod, but that was all. He looked as though he was going to be sick.

Once they reached the ninth level, Kingsley stepped out and started to direct people toward the staircase that led down to Courtroom Ten. "Take the third set of benches on your left," he said. "You'll receive further instruction when you're called to testify. Good luck," he added in an undertone to Harry. He got back in the now empty lift, and the doors closed.

Harry and Ron moved down the stairs with the crowd. Neville fell in step beside them, though he did not look at them again. When they reached the courtroom, which was already packed with people, they went to sit on the benches they had been directed to. Only the last two rows were still empty, so Harry and Ron climbed up into the second row. Harry found himself sitting next to a young boy around nine years old, who had a long, jagged scar running down the length of his face.

Now confident that they would not be overheard in the din, Harry lowered his voice. "He's here."

"Who...?" The color drained from Ron's face. "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded, telling Ron about what had happened in the Atrium.

"But it couldn't be," Ron insisted. "How would he get past security?"

"Probably took someone else's wand," Harry said. He doubted Voldemort would go anywhere without a wand.

"Well, we have to tell someone," Ron said, eyeing a Ministry official standing a few feet away.

"Tell them what? He'll have taken Polyjuice, and I didn't get a good look at him. He could be anyone."

Ron glanced rapidly over his shoulder at a wizened old man who appeared to be eavesdropping on them and lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. "So what do we do?"

Harry turned his attention toward the doors, where a new wave of people was pouring in, taking the last open seats. It could be any one of them. "I don't know."

Two more groups of people filed into the room after that, and soon every bench was full, save for the balcony ones, which were reserved for the Wizengamot. They filed in at that moment, Rufus Scrimgeour at the lead. Only about half of them seemed to be present.

Once they were seated, the doors sprung open again, and Kingsley finally entered. Behind him, a group of five Aurors flanked the two prisoners. Amycus and Alecto Carrow were hardly recognizable, dressed in shabby gray robes and covered in filth from head to toe. The crowd surged with shouts, and people around the room leapt to their feet. The Wizengamot and the majority of those in the witness section, however, remained silent.

"Order!" Scrimgeour's voice echoed throughout the room. "I will have order!" Slowly, the crowd settled down, the volume lowering to a dull murmur. The Aurors led the Carrows to two chairs in the center of the room, where chains sprang to life, coiling around their arms. "Amycus and Alecto Carrow, you have been brought before the Council of Magical Law to answer charges on participation in invasion of Hogwarts; the murders of Ravi, Veda, and Padma Patil, Jacob and Diana Smith, and Richard and Ernie Macmillan..."

Harry glanced quickly at Ron, whose eyes had widened. Ernie was dead, too?

"...the injury of twenty-one witches and wizards, fourteen counts of using an Unforgivable Curse on a human being, and damaging the property of thirty-six families in Bristol. How do you plead?"

"We don't recognize this institution," Amycus spat.

"That's not guilty, Minister." All heads swiveled toward the door, where an old, stately-looking wizard in dark red robes strode into the room. "Janus Rookwood, council for the defense."

Harry's heart jumped into his throat, his fists clenching. He was starting to think that this had been an incredibly bad idea.

Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes. "Not guilty, then," he said.

Across the room, another figure on the lower benches stood and stepped forward. "Minerva McGonagall," she said, keeping a fair distance between herself and Rookwood, "lead prosecutor."

Scrimgeour glanced to his left, where Harry now noticed Percy Weasley, furiously scribbling on a roll of parchment. As he watched, Percy seemed to steal a glance in Harry and Ron's direction. "So noted," the Minister said. "First witness?"

The trial was long and very tedious. McGonagall presented her witnesses first, calling each name from a scroll and directed them to sit in a chair off to one side of the room. They were questioned first by McGonagall, and then by Rookwood. Occasionally, the Wizengamot would ask a question or two, but as Kingsley had predicted, they mostly remained quiet. Unfortunately, the majority of the witnesses seemed to know very little of the events they were asked about. Two elderly wizards left the courtroom before they were even called to testify. A middle-aged witch named Brianne Macmillan had to be escorted from the courtroom after trying to attack the Carrows, screaming that they had murdered her husband and son.

About an hour into the trial, Parvati was called forward. An attendant led her down to the chair, where she sat trembling. McGonagall asked her to tell the court about the night her family was attacked, and she related the same story she had told to Harry: of coming back to her house and being attacked by two Death Eaters.

Then, Rookwood stepped forward to question her. "Can you point out your attackers?"

"Minister," McGonagall said, "this question is pointless. The girl's blind."

"My apologies," Rookwood said, though he seemed to be anything but sorry. "Miss Patil, can you describe your attackers?"

"Th...they were wearing c...cloaks," Parvati said, her head bowed slightly. "I couldn't s...see their f...faces."

"Hmm." Rookwood turned his attention back to Scrimgeor. "This witness's testimony is obviously irrelevant. She can't identify my clients as her attackers."

"The Minister will remember," McGonagall said, "that the Carrows were apprehended just blocks from Miss Patil's house on the night of the attack."

"Is taking a walk a crime, then?"

"Enough!" Scrimgeour stood, his face contorting with rage. "This council will decide whether or not the testimony is relevant. I will not have this trial turned into a shouting match."

Rookwood looked satisfied. "I have no further questions then."

Scrimgeour glanced around at the other Wizengamot members, but none spoke up. "The witness may step down."

As Parvati's attendant helped her back onto her bench, McGonagall held up her scroll again. "Prosecution calls Neville Longbottom."

Neville, who was sitting on Ron's other side, stumbled a couple of times in his rush to get to the chair.

"You were present at the attack on Hogwarts, were you not?" McGonagall asked.

"Yes, Professor," Neville said in a wavering voice. "I...I mean, yes, ma'am."

"Would you please tell the court what you witnessed that night?"

As Neville spoke about what had happened, he seemed to gain more confidence. In fact, Harry would wager that he was probably the best witness thus far. He pointed out the Carrows and stated without any doubt in his voice that he had seen the pair of them emerge from the stairs leading up to the Astronomy Tower.

Then, Rookwood stepped up. "Minerva McGonagall is one of your professors, is she not?"

Neville paused, as though afraid it might be a trick question. "She was. I couldn't take Transfiguration last year because I didn't get my OWL."

"Did that upset you?"

"Yeah, I guess. My gran was really angry."

"Minister, I don't see how this is relevant," McGonagall said.

Scrimgeour nodded. "Get to the point, Rookwood."

"If Professor McGonagall offered to let you into the class," Rookwood continued on in a slightly louder voice, "would you take it?"

Neville hesitated. "Well...yeah, of course."

"Did she?"

Neville nearly fell out of the chair. "What?"

"Minister, really!" McGonagall said.

"This court has a right to know if the boy was bribed into testifying," Rookwood said.

Neville sat bolt upright. "I wasn't!"

"Obviously you would be too scared to speak—"

"That's enough, Rookwood," Scrimgeour said. "You've made your point. The witness may—"

"_Hem, hem_." A sound that Harry had hoped never to hear again sounded from Scrimgeour's left. Dolores Umbridge leaned forward, her lips twisted into what she probably thought passed for a sweet smile. "Just a few questions, if I may. Did you see Harry Potter on the night of the Hogwarts attack?"

Neville gave a start and glanced over his shoulder at Harry. "Er...yeah, I did."

"What were the circumstances?"

"He...he came down the stairs, too. He was chasing after the Death Eaters."

"Hmm." She bobbed her head at Scrimgeour. "Thank you, Minister. That's all."

Neville stood up and hurried back to his seat, looking very pale.

"What was that about?" Ron muttered.

Harry shrugged. Whatever it was, he had a feeling he would not have to wait long to find out.

McGonagall looked back down at her scroll and wavered slightly. "Prosecution calls Harry Potter."

"Good luck, mate," Ron said. Harry tried to force a smile but failed. He started down toward the chair, trying to ignore the rising murmurs of conversation around the room. Across the room, he saw Kingsley's grip tighten on his wand, his eyes following Harry's progress. The other Aurors were also on alert, watching the crowd.

McGonagall did not speak for a moment, waiting for the commotion to quiet down. "Mr. Potter, were you present at the attack on Hogwarts?"

"Yes." Harry glanced toward the upper benches. Umbridge was leaning forward again, peering down at him like a hawk surveying her prey.

"Did you see the defendants there?"

Harry nodded. "They were on the roof of the Astronomy Tower with the other Death Eaters."

"And how did you know that they were Death Eaters?"

Harry hesitated for a split second, trying to think of how best to word his answer. He wanted to avoid bringing up Malfoy if at all possible. "They were talking about killing Dumbledore."

McGonagall caught his eye and gave the slightest of nods. "Thank you." She retreated to a clear space on one of the lower benches and sat down. She looked tired, as though the very act of standing for so long had drained her energy.

Rookwood glanced at her, his lips twitching. Then, he paced slowly across the room for a moment or two before finally turning his attention on Harry. "While these alleged 'Death Eaters' were talking, was Albus Dumbledore still alive."

Harry blinked. "Yes."

"And did my clients kill him?"

"No, Snape did."

"Did you see my clients hurt anyone?"

"One of them tried to curse me."

"That wasn't my question. Did you see them hurt anyone?"

"Well, no, but—"

"I might remind the court," Rookwood cut him off, turning his gaze up toward Scrimgeour, "that Hogwarts school is public property. Therefore, if my clients were on the grounds and Dumbledore himself did not request that they leave, they were not breaking any laws."

Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed into slits. "We don't need a lecture on our laws, Rookwood. Are you quite finished?"

Rookwood turned back to Harry, sneering. "Yes, I believe I am."

"_Hem hem_." This time, Harry was not the least bit surprised to hear the sound. Neither, it seemed, was Scrimgeour. Umbridge stood up this time, though it did not make her much taller. "So, you were on the Astronomy Tower with the Death Eaters?"

"Yes," Harry said shortly.

"Seems odd, a student and the Headmaster being on the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night. Do you mind explaining to the court what you were doing up there?"

"I was talking to Dumbledore." It was not technically a lie. He had spoken to Dumbledore on the Tower, however briefly.

"About?"

Harry felt a rush of annoyance, but before he could even open his mouth, McGonagall spoke up. "I fail to see how this is relevant."

"I'm trying to establish Mr. Potter's character."

Scrimgeour looked reluctant, but he nodded. "I think this court knows Mr. Potter well enough by now. Move on."

Umbridge seemed put out, but she rebounded quickly. "You were witness to Albus Dumbledore's death, correct?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell us _your_ version of how it happened?"

Harry already had a bad feeling about this, but he did not see any way out of answering. So, he related what had happened as briefly as possible, from Malfoy coming up the stairs to chasing him and Snape across the grounds.

"So, you were one of the last people to see Dumbledore alive?"

"Yes."

"And the last to see Snape and Malfoy before they disappeared?"

Harry gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to scream at her. "Yes."

"Hmm...convenient."

McGonagall leapt to her feet at once. "Mr. Potter is not the one on trial here!"

"Maybe he should be," Rookwood said. "I believe I have a few more questions for him myself."

"Minister," McGonagall said, "surely you can't—"

All at once, Harry heard someone scream, saw a flash of green light, and felt something hit him in the back, knocking him out of the chair. At the same moment, he felt a surge of anger course through him, his scar throbbing with pain so severe his vision blurred. He heard shouting around him and the sound of a thousand thundering footsteps.

A pair of hands seized Harry and pulled him to his feet. "Stay close!" Kingsley yelled above the continued roar, one arm wrapped around Harry's shoulders and the other holding his wand at the ready. The crowd surged around them as people rushed madly toward the door.

"_Silence!_" Scrimgeour bellowed. Every member of the Wizengamot was on their feet now, but not a single one had taken a step. The volume lowered a bit, but the Minister did not wait for it to quiet completely. "Who was it?!"

"I've got him!" The crowd parted, and Moody limped forward, dragging a weedy-looking teenager, whose face was hidden by a mess of brown hair. He did not fight against Moody's grip, but neither was he going along willingly.

"What is your name, boy?" Scrimgeour asked.

The boy looked up and, at that moment, Harry caught a glimpse of his face. He was very unkempt, his hair lank and greasy, his eyes sunken into his sockets, but there was no mistaking him. He did not speak, only stared blankly.

Moody gave him a rough shake. "It's Theodore Nott, Minister. I'd know this little rat anywhere."

"Take him away," Scrimgeour said. "This court is in recess. Two hours."

As people started to move again, a shout rang out over the crowd. "Harry!" Ron pushed his way over to them.

Kingsley nodded at Ron and raised his voice to yell at the Aurors who still stood guard over the Carrows. "Davidson! With me! The rest of you, get those two back in their cells!"

"Yes, sir?" A man appeared out of the crowd. He could not have been more than twenty-five, with short red hair and a smattering of freckles.

"Wait for everyone to clear out, then take these two up to the office."

"Will do." The man reached out a hand to Harry. "Name's Roland Davidson. It's an honor, Mr. Potter."

"Um, yeah," Harry said.

"I'll be along just as soon as I've dealt with this mess," Kingsley said. Before anyone could object, he swept off through the crowd.

"It'll take another fifteen minutes to get everyone on the lift," Davidson said. "You two can sit if you want."

Glad for the invitation, Harry moved over to the nearest bench and sat down heavily, clutching his head.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Harry lied, looking up. "What happened?"

"Nott tried to kill you. For a second there, I thought he had."

"But who knocked me over?"

Ron shrugged. "Someone from the crowd hit you with a spell. I didn't see who it was."

Harry groaned, covering his face again. His scar was still burning, and he could feel the lingering effects of Voldemort's emotions. What had made him so angry?

The room slowly cleared out, and finally, Davidson walked back over. "Let's go, then."

The trip up to the Auror's Department seemed to take an eternity. Harry's legs would not work properly. He noticed that Ron was watching him carefully and focused all his attention on keeping his footing. He did not need to give Ron more reason to worry. Luckily, all of the people from the courtroom had already gone, and they did not have to share the lift with anyone, so he was able to lean against the wall and rest for a bit.

Davidson took them down the rows of cubicles in the Auror's office. Only two people were still sitting at their desks, and they just nodded at the three before turning back to their paperwork. "Here we are," Davidson said, directing them into an empty cubicle. There was only one chair, so he grabbed another from a nearby desk. "Sit. I'll see if I can find some lunch for you."

Ron waited until he had gone before speaking again. "I can't believe Nott attacked you. He had to know that he'd get caught."

"Maybe he was counting on the crowd to slow up the Aurors," Harry said.

"Lucky Moody was there. He looked like he was about to rip Nott's arm off."

Davidson returned within a few minutes, carrying two ham sandwiches and bottles of butterbeer for each of them. "I'm sure it pales in comparison to Molly's cooking," he said, "but it'll have to do."

None of them spoke again for a long time. Harry was not hungry in the least, but he could feel Ron's eyes boring into him. He chewed his sandwich slowly, keeping his attention firmly fixed on it.

Kingsley returned less than an hour later, marching through the cubicles with a steadfast determination. He seemed to relax a bit when he saw that they were fine but still looked harried.

"How did it go?" Davidson asked.

"We got Nott as far as the Atrium, and he gave us the slip," Kingsley said. "He made it to a fireplace before we could stop him."

"He escaped?" Ron said.

Kingsley nodded. "We have alternate routes out of the building. We should get you two out of here as soon as possible."

"What about the trial?" Harry asked.

"You won't be called to testify again," Kingsley said.

"I want to stay," Harry protested, sitting up straighter. "I want to see the verdict."

"It'll be much safer for you to leave now."

"Nott won't come back," Ron said. Harry glanced at him, surprised to have someone on his side. "He's not that stupid."

Kingsley looked between them and sighed. "It's your decision. I'm going to have you moved out of the witness stands though. We need to put you someplace where you'll have some protection, but you won't be easily found."

"My wife's off duty today," Davidson said. "They can sit with her."

Kingsley considered this a moment, then nodded. "Give her the message. Have her sit in the top row of the right benches closest the door. I saw Proudfoot's family sitting near that area too, so they'll have an extra buffer."

"Yes, sir," Davidson said, scurrying off.

Kingsley stared after him, sighing. "Molly's going to kill me," he said under his breath. Then, he turned back to the other two. "You'll have to take Floo back down to the Atrium and go through security again with everyone else. Follow me."

Harry stood up, wavering slightly. Ron reached out to steady him. "Sure you want to do this?" he muttered. Harry nodded, shrugging the hand off his shoulder.

Kingsley led them to a door tucked away in the corner of the office. The room beyond was cramped and windowless, most of the space taken up by old, broken chairs and desks in various stages of disrepair. Kingsley wove his way through the clutter and moved a large, flat piece of wood that was leaning against the opposite wall, sending up a cloud of dust. A fireplace lay behind it.

"This is the emergency exit for this level," he explained. "As you can see, it hasn't been used in a while." He stooped down and pulled a cracked flowerpot out from under one of the desks. "Aim for fireplace eleven. It'll get you the closest to the security stand. Don't go up with the witnesses. We might be able to fool people into thinking you've left. When you get into the courtroom, turn immediately to your right and go to the top benches. Alexandra Davidson will be sitting up there. She has black hair and a scar right along here." He ran a finger down the length of his jaw. "There should be a woman with five blond children sitting near her. Keep your eyes peeled. If you see anything suspicious, I want you both to duck down out of sight. Do you understand?"

Harry and Ron nodded. Kingsley waved his wand at the fireplace, and flames leapt up from the old ashes. Ron reached for the Floo Powder first and stepped forward. "Ministry of Magic Atrium, fireplace eleven!" The green flames engulfed him.

Kingsley held Harry back for a moment. "If at any time you want to leave, just tell Davidson. She'll get you out."

"Yeah," Harry said, grabbing a handful of powder.

"Be careful."

"Ministry of Magic Atrium, fireplace eleven!" The flames licked at Harry's skin as he fell past a slew of fireplaces.

Just as he felt himself start to slow, pain erupted in his scar again without warning, making him cry out. Hot ash filled his mouth and he fell forward onto hard ground, choking.

"Harry!" A hand grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up. "What—"

"Wait." Harry pushed Ron away and clutched his head, groaning. Roaring filled his ears and an image the crowd faded in and out of focus behind his eyelids. Then, he felt another throb in his scar. His eyes wrenched open and it was as though he was staring at the floor through a long tunnel.

"Get up, boy!" A distant voice yelled. A pair of hands grabbed his shoulders. "You, help me! Everyone else, move along!"

As Harry was pulled to his feet, he felt a wrenching sensation in his brain and slumped forward, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his vision had returned to normal.

"You okay, mate?" Ron asked, hauling him back upright.

"Yeah," Harry said shakily, wiping his forehead.

"Over here," the voice spoke again on Harry's other side. He turned to see a black-haired witch with a long, jagged scar along her jaw. She and Ron helped him over to the wall and leaned him against it. Once he was standing on his own, she turned back to the crowd. "Move along, nothing to see here."

"Was it...?" Ron trailed off as Harry nodded, his face paling. "But...why?"

"I don't know," Harry muttered. He pressed a hand to his head, trying to make his mind work properly. "I didn't get much, just a few flashes of the crowd. I think...I think he was just trying to figure out where I was."

The witch, who had managed to get the crowd moving again for the most part, looked around at them. "Good thing I decided to meet you out here. I'm Alexandra Davidson." She shook their hands. "We should get moving. Are you good to walk?"

Harry nodded, pushing himself off the wall. He was a bit shaky on his feet, but when Ron reached out to steady him, he shook the hand off his arm. Progress across the room was slow, and by the time they made it through security, the guards were loading up the last lift down to the courtroom. As they began to descend, Harry discreetly leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.

The majority of the courtroom was as crowded as it had been before.. The witness benches, however, were nearly empty now, with only about a dozen people remaining. Harry glanced over them and noticed that Neville was the only one among them who had already testified.

Alexandra led them up a row of benches on the right, directing them to sit at the very top. Just as Kingsley had said, five blond children sat in the next row down, ranging in age from toddler to around ten years. A middle-aged woman with stringy brown hair sat in the middle of them, her stomach bulging under her robes. She glanced at Alexandra with a smile. "Roped you into working today after all, eh?"

"Just working on my overtime," Alexandra said. "Harry, Ron, this is Leila Proudfoot."

Leila reached back to shake their hands. "Pleased to meet you." A small scuffle broke out between two of her children just then, and she turned her attention to wrestling them apart.

"Remember," Alexandra said in a lowered voice to Harry and Ron, "anything happens, you two duck down out of sight."

Harry nodded, absently scratching at his scar. He noticed Ron give him a wary look and quickly lowered his hand.

Once the Wizengamot returned and the Carrows were led back in, the trial resumed. Harry had been the final witness for the prosecution, so Rookwood stepped forward. Most of the witnesses he called were family members of the Carrows. The young boy Harry had been sitting next to earlier was part of a group of four testifying that the pair had been at a family gathering on the day of the attacks in Bristol. The rest were character witnesses for the most part. Most moving was the testimony of the stout witch who had bumped into Harry when he arrived that morning. The witch named Kendra Willows refused the seat, standing instead with her two sons' hands clutched tightly in hers. She revealed that Amycus was her ex-husband and declared that he would never hurt a fly. Harry glanced at the Carrows while she was speaking and noticed that Amycus was staring at his ex-wife as though she had grown an extra head.

McGonagall questioned the witnesses as well, but she did not seem to make any headway. Their stories were all well-rehearsed and matched up to the last detail. The Wizengamot did not ask any questions, though they did exchange a few whispers amongst themselves.

After the last witness returned to the benches, Rookwood turned his attention to the Wizengamot. "I rest my case."

Scrimgeour nodded, clearly relieved. "We'll return with our verdict in two hours. This court is—"

"If I may, Minister," Rookwood interrupted, "my clients have requested that the vote be taken immediately."

Scrimgeour blinked and turned his attention on McGonagall. "Any objections?"

McGonagall looked as though she had many. She paused for a moment, as though searching for one that would convince him. "The prosecution wishes only to remind the court that the charges must be voted on separately," she said finally.

"With all due respect, Minister," Rookwood said, "we'll be here all day if we vote on every one of the Bristol attacks separately."

"Does the prosecution object to combining the attacks in Bristol into a single vote?" Scrimgeour asked.

McGonagall took even longer to answer this time. "No."

"Very well. As the Wizengamot has not had time to discuss the charges, members retain the right to abstain from voting. On the invasion of Hogwarts, those in favor of conviction?" Three quarters of the hands rose. "Against?" Only half a dozen hands rose, of which Umbridge seemed the most ardent.

"On the attacks in Bristol, those in favor of conviction?" A few hands went up right away. Others rose tentatively after a few moments. Scrimgeour waited, looking around several times to make sure no one was changing their minds. When only a quarter of the hands were in the air and it seemed that no more would rise, he spoke again. "Against?" The reaction was even slower, only two or three hands at a time. By the time they had finished, however, the count was at nearly one-half.

Scrimgeour looked just as disappointed as McGonagall. "Very well. Amycus and Alecto Carrow, you are found guilty of participating in the attack of Hogwarts. You will each serve a term in Azkaban of one year. At that time, you will be brought before this council for further evaluation. This court is adjourned."

"A_year_?" Ron gaped as the crowd around them began to buzz with conversation. "That's _it_?"

Harry was just as outraged. "Did you see how many didn't vote? They could've convicted them!"

"I'm afraid that's Janus Rookwood for you," Alexandra said. "He's not interested in proving that his clients are innocent, only planting enough doubt to make conviction impossible."

Once the Carrows had been led away by the Aurors, people began to filter out of the courtroom. Alexandra said her goodbyes to Leila and ushered for Ron and Harry to follow her. The crowd moved steady until they reached the doors, at which point a bottleneck began to form. Guards fought to keep the peace as they loaded groups onto the lift. Luckily, Harry had regained his strength for the most part, and so was able to stay on his feet through the long wait.

Finally, they made their way to the front and were able to squeeze onto the lift. "Just a little bit further," Alexandra said. "It shouldn't be so crowded once we get up there."

When Harry stepped out into the Atrium, he had only the briefest glimpse of the room before he felt a bolt of pain so strong it felt as though his head was splitting along his scar. Caught off guard, he fell, not even feeling himself hit the ground.

He was marching quickly through the lingering crowds of people, hands clutched around two tiny wrists, his irritation steadily rising. One of the children cried at him to slow down, but he ignored it, focusing on the fireplace across the room.

Suddenly, the crying boy stumbled, his hand slipping out of Harry's. Harry growled and slowed his pace, turning around. Then, he stopped cold as his eyes fell on the figure kneeling in front of the lift. He picked up the child who was still standing and took off for the fireplaces, the screams of the fallen boy echoing in his ears.

Harry snapped back into his own body so fast his muscles spasmed. He heard someone yelling at him, but that was irrelevant. He leapt to his feet and ran as fast as he could toward the witch. He sidestepped the boy lying on the ground and continued on, his blood pounding in his ears. The witch reached the fireplace far before he did, however, and threw in a handful of Floo Powder, disappearing into the green flames. Harry held onto a vague hope that he would still be able to catch her, but the fire turned orange again just moments before he could reach them.

Harry swore, his fists clenching so tightly his fingernails dug into his palms. So close. He had been _so_ close.

"Mummy!" The scream drew Harry forcefully from his thoughts. He reached down just in time to stop the small boy from leaping into the flames.

"Harry!" Ron hurried over to join him. "What—?"

"Help me!" Harry yelled, fighting to keep a hold on the child, who was still fighting to get away, wailing loudly. Ron reached down to help restrain him until Alexandra arrived. She waved her wand, sending a bolt of red light at the boy. He stopped struggling, his head rolling on his shoulders.

"What happened?" Alexandra asked. Behind her, Kingsley had just arrived on the scene, his wand drawn.

"It was V...he..." Harry wheezed, clutching a stitch in his side. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, his limbs were shaking and his lungs screamed for air.

"Davidson," Kingsley said, "get that boy to the office. Wake him up and find out what you can. I'll be there as soon as I can." He turned back to Harry and Ron. "Molly's lowered the wards. We're going to the Burrow."

"But..." Harry started.

"Save your breath. You can explain when we get there. Ron, you first."

Ron hesitated, glancing back at Harry. Finally, he stepped up and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, tossing it into the fireplace. "The Burrow!"

The moment he had gone, Kingsley scooped up some powder and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Ready?" When Harry nodded, he threw the powder in and gave him a gentle push forward.

"The Burrow!" Harry said. His stomach lurched as he began to fall through the flames, and he fought to keep his attention on the fireplaces that whizzed past. After what seemed like hours, he finally tumbled out into the Weasley's sitting room, coughing. Hands grabbed him, hauling him to his feet, and suddenly he felt as though his ribs were being crushed.

"Thank goodness you're all right," Mrs. Weasley said, releasing him so he could breath and pulling him away from the fireplace.

A moment later, the flames roared green again, and Kingsley stepped out, dusting off his robes. "Close the wards, quick!" he said.

When Mrs. Weasley rushed to do so, Harry finally turned to Ron, who was in the midst of being hugged by Hermione across the room. He gave Harry a sheepish look, his ears burning red. Hermione seemed to just then notice that Harry had arrived and ran over to hug him, too. She still looked exhausted and vaguely ill, her cheeks a feverish pink, but otherwise, she seemed much better than she had that morning.

"Explain quickly, Harry," Kingsley said as Hermione led Harry over to the couch. "I have to be getting back."

So, once Harry was seated on the couch, he briefly told Kingsley about what he had seen. He kept his eyes firmly planted on the floor the entire time to avoid looking at anyone directly. When he had finished, silence filled the room.

"So..." Ron said finally, "if that was You-Know-Who, what happened to the real Kendra Willows?"

"Impossible to know for sure," Kingsley said. "It's probably a safe bet that those were her children, judging by that boy's reaction to being left behind. We might be able to find out more when we question him."

"What about the other boy?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Kingsley sighed. "We'll do what we can, but I wouldn't get my hopes up. You-Know-Who probably won't kill him, since he is the child of a Death Eater. If his mother is dead, most likely he'll either be pushed off on another Death Eater or locked away somewhere. Unless his brother can tell us exactly where he is though, I doubt we'll find him."

Mrs. Weasley, whose hand had drifted up to cover her mouth, quickly turned her face away, wiping her eyes.

"I should be getting back," Kingsley said. "I'll let you know if there's any news." He turned back to the fire, throwing in a handful of powder. "Ministry of Magic Atrium!"

After a short silence, Mrs. Weasley finally spoke. "Dinner will be in a few hours." She wandered off toward the kitchen.

The moment she was out of earshot, Hermione leapt to her feet. "We don't have much time. Let's go."

"What?" Harry said. "Where are we going?"

"I've figured it out," she said. "I know how to destroy the cup."

- - - - -

Author's Note: As I said, necessary evil. Next chapter: blood, games, and memories. The cup fights back, Ron is surprisingly upbeat, and Harry uncovers a new mystery concerning Malfoy. Lots will happen in the next chapter but, oddly enough, it looks like it might be a short one. Again, I have no idea when it'll be ready, but I'll post as soon as I am able to.


	19. Chapter 19: Just a Game

Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed. I must have had an unconscious guilt about not including Draco in the last chapter, because I finished this one in record time. I was pleasantly surprised by the positive reaction to the trial scene. I know a lot of it probably seems confusing now, but before all is said and done, most everything should be cleared up. I don't really have a prelude to this chapter, other than to apologize for its brevity. It just seemed like the right place to cut it off. Enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 19: Just a Game

Hermione took the stairs two at a time. Harry struggled to keep up, his blood pounding in his veins. Ron was just a few steps behind. He could have easily passed, but he seemed to be keeping an eye on Harry, as though to make sure he would not fall.

Hermione did not stop until she had reached her door. "Go get the cup," she said to Ron. "We can't waste any time."

Ron hesitated, glancing at Harry. When he received only a shrug, he started off back down the stairs toward Percy's room.

Hermione stared after him for only a moment and then pushed her door open, waving Harry inside. The moment he stepped in, a sulphuric smell him like a brick wall, sending him reeling backward, his eyes watering. He blinked several times, squinting at the cauldron that sat on Hermione's desk, spewing acrid smoke. "No lavender this time?" he asked, coughing.

Hermione shook her head, speaking in a slightly nasal voice. "Couldn't risk it. This potion's very delicate." She picked up a bowl of crushed beetles, tossed it into the cauldron, and started to stir the mixture, glancing at the clock.

"So, this will destroy the cup?" Harry pinched his nose as he peered at the bubbling, dark purple potion.

"No." Hermione reached into her desk drawer, pulling out a tiny, black-tinted vial. "_This_ will. Careful," she added as Harry picked it up, "if you get that on your hands, it'll eat your skin."

"What is it?" Harry asked, turning the vial over in his hands. It could not have held more than a few tablespoons of potion.

"It's called _Caedus_. It's a poison." Hermione reached out to take it back, but Harry withdrew his hand before she could.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

Before she could answer, the door swung open again. Ron stepped in, carrying a balled-up sheet in his arms. While Harry was distracted, Hermione grabbed the vial and retreated to the opposite corner of the room, crossing her arms over her chest. "Put it on the desk," she said.

Ron paused another moment before carefully unraveling the sheet and setting down the golden cup. Hermione sucked in a quick breath the moment she spotted it, her shoulders stiffening.

"Are you...? Harry started.

"I'm fine. Listen, the soul is part of the metal alloy. That potion..." She gestured at the cauldron. "...will draw it out."

"So, we fill the cup with this?"

She nodded. "Use the ladle. Whatever you do, don't touch the cup or the potion."

Harry stepped over to the cauldron and picked up the ladle. The potion was thick and seemed to resist going into the cup. Finally, he managed to fill it about halfway. "What...?" Before he could get the words out, the potion flared suddenly, making him stumble back a few steps. White light shone out of the cup like a beacon.

A hand on Harry's shoulder made him jump. Hermione stood beside him now, her face white as a sheet. "You should stand back," she said. "If something happens, get help."

"But—" Harry protested.

"We don't know how conscious this thing is. With your connection to Voldemort, we can't risk it trying to possess you."

"And what if it tries to possess you?"

She let go of him and moved over to Ron, grabbing his shoulder. "It can't take both of us."

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Ron asked.

She nodded. "Let's do this."

They moved slowly over to the desk, stopping just outside the range of the light beam. Hermione fumbled with the potion vial, her hands shaking so badly Harry thought she might spill it on herself.

"Are you—?" Ron started.

"Fine," Hermione said shortly. She managed to get the cork out of the vial and slowly reached out.

As her hand entered the beam of light, an echoing, whispered voice filled the room. "_Drink,_" it hissed.

Several things happened at once. The vial slipped from Hermione's fingers into the cup, and she crumpled to the floor. Ron turned to one side as though hoping to catch her, but at the same moment, there was a burst of blinding light and a shattering sound. Harry threw his arms up instinctively to cover his face. When he lowered them again, all that remained on the desk was the base of the cup. Ron was lying on his side next to Hermione with his back to Harry. The right side of his shirt was slightly tattered and deep cuts crisscrossed his arm.

Before Harry could recover from his shock, Hermione started shifting around. "Ron?" she said softly. She grabbed his shoulder and turned him over onto his back, gasping.

The right half of his face and neck had taken the brunt of the explosion. Bits of metal still protruded from some of the wounds. One particularly jagged piece had narrowly missed his eye, embedding itself into his cheek. When Hermione moved him, he only moaned softly, his head rolling to one side.

"I..." Harry said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears, "I'll go get Mrs. Weasley." He moved toward the door.

Hermione remained silent, her eyes not once leaving Ron's face.

-

"You three should be more careful," Mrs. Weasley said for the fifth time as she dabbed the cuts on Ron's face with a cloth soaked in a blue potion. He was lying on the couch in the sitting room, his arm heavily bandaged. Mrs. Weasley had tried several spells to heal the cuts, but none had worked.

Harry and Hermione sat on the other side of the room. Neither had spoken since Harry briefly told Mrs. Weasley that they had been trying out a new spell that went awry. As of yet, she had asked for no further explanation.

"There we are," she said. The right half of Ron's face was bright pink now, but the last of the blood had been washed away. "Now, you're going to have to keep them clean, and make sure you take your potion twice a day to avoid infection. And no more new spells until you've healed properly." She collected her various potion bottles, cloths, and bandages and headed toward the kitchen.

The moment she was gone, Ron sat up. "So, that's it then? It's gone?" When Harry nodded, he grinned. "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it? I thought it'd put up a much bigger fight than that."

"It's not funny, Ron," Hermione said in a quiet voice. "You could've died."

Ron waved his hand dismissively. "Lighten up. Only...what...three more to go? We can do that, easy."

Hermione bit her lip and stood up, retreating into the kitchen.

"What's with her?" Ron asked.

Harry just shrugged. Though he was more than willing to blaming all of Hermione's strange behavior on the aftereffects of the cup, he could not help but wonder if there was something more to it. Then again, maybe she was just shaken up by everything that had happened.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair, as usual. Ron's right hand was too heavily bandaged to handle the silverware, so he was forced to eat clumsily with his left. He managed to clear his plate only a few minutes after everyone else, but he made no move for seconds, dropping his fork and glaring down at it as though it was the source of all his problems.

After dinner, Mrs. Weasley went outside to tend to the garden. Hermione got up as well and headed for the sitting room. Harry busied himself with gathering together some food for Malfoy, mostly to save himself from having to come up with something to say.

"You all right?" Ron asked after Harry had nearly knocked the butter dish off the table for the second time.

"Fine," Harry muttered.

"Don't even know why you're bothering with that," Ron said, nodding at the plate.

"Well, we can't exactly starve him."

"But why is that our problem?"

Harry did not reply, avoiding Ron's gaze as he picked up the plate and left. On his way through the sitting room, he glanced at Hermione, but she was just sitting on the couch, staring blankly into the fire. She did not even seem to notice that he was there.

Malfoy was sitting in his corner when Harry arrived, midway through a chess game against himself. "I see you're alive then," he stated matter-of-factly, as though he did not care one way or the other.

Harry narrowed his eyes and crossed the room. He stopped just beyond Malfoy's reach and set the plate on the floor, moving back to sit on his bed.

Malfoy stared at the food, but made no move to eat. "How was the trial?" he asked.

Harry looked up in surprise. "How—?"

"Granger mentioned it."

Harry's blood ran cold. "Hermione was here?"

"She brought me lunch." Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Relax, Potter. Your secret's safe...for now." He moved the black queen to checkmate the white king and started to set up the pieces again. "You're taking white, I gather?"

"What?"

"White," Malfoy repeated the word slowly, holding up one of the white pawns. "I don't have to explain that concept, do I?"

Harry gaped. "You can't be serious. After...how..." He could not quite think of how to say it, his mind refusing to even accept that this was happening.

"Look, it's obvious you have nothing better to do. I can think of plenty that _I'd_ rather be doing, but there you have it." Malfoy paused. When Harry did nothing, he smirked and held his hands up. "No wands. No tricks. Just a game."

Harry stared for another moment, surprised at himself for even considering it. But the temptation for something to focus his mind on was too great. Wordlessly, he crossed the room, sitting cross-legged in front of the chessboard. Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Malfoy, he picked up a white pawn and moved it forward.

Malfoy inclined his head once and selected a sandwich from the plate. After contemplating the board for a moment, he made his first move and raised his eyebrows at Harry.

The next hour was spent in this tense silence. They each moved their pieces with unnecessary flare, the hollow sounds of pieces hitting the board seeming to echo throughout the room. Time slowed almost to a standstill, or perhaps they were only taking longer pauses between moves. Harry's back and neck ached from hunching over, his legs tingling from sitting for too long in the same position. He resisted the urge to stretch his limbs, however. Malfoy seemed similarly afflicted, his face screwed up with concentration. Their moves were becoming more erratic and illogical, and neither had amassed many captured pieces. The chessboard no longer mattered. This was a battle of endurance.

The light streaming through the window was starting to dim. Harry stared at Malfoy, who was taking a particularly long time to make his move. Sweat trickled down the back of Harry's neck, and he clenched his fists. Malfoy reached down, his hand lighting on top of one of his knights, but he did not move it. He glanced up, and Harry let his hands relax, even as his annoyance jumped to an all time high. Normally, he might have been able to put up with this, but his mind was starting to betray him. Thoughts of the past couple nights were coming back to him, along with others he had been trying not to think about. His mind drifted from Malfoy to a phantom memory of pain...to the vision of Mr. Weasley hanging on the wall...to an image of Narcissa Malfoy collapsed on the floor, writhing in pain. This last thought seemed so out of place, Harry was jolted from it for a moment and noticed Malfoy's eyes still staring into his.

Harry felt a surge of anger fill his veins and, hardly aware of what he was doing, funneled all his rage toward Malfoy. The image of Narcissa vanished, replaced by a slightly blurred vision of a changing room. Six burly Slytherin Quidditch players were filtering in from the Quidditch Pitch, laughing loudly. One pointed his hand at another, as though holding a wand. "Eat slugs!" he said with mock anger and then doubled over, pretending to throw up.

As the boys continued past, Harry saw Marcus Flint taking up the rear. He was guffawing just as loudly as the others, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a much younger Malfoy. Malfoy's face was white as a sheet, his expression fixed into a blank mask. As Flint tightened his grip and pulled Malfoy forward, however, his eyes flickered briefly with a hint of fear.

Harry snapped back to reality, his heart leaping into his throat, and he tried to stand up. Unfortunately, his legs were still asleep and he only succeeded in propelling himself backwards, hitting the floor again with bruising force. He braced his hands against the floor to hold himself up, breathing heavily as he tried to put his jumbled thoughts back into some semblance of order. "You..." he said, glaring at Malfoy. "You..."

Malfoy, seemed just as shaken up, but he composed himself much more quickly. "I told you I'd find out, Potter. Where is she?"

Harry finally managed to stand, planting his hand against the wall to keep him upright. He opened his mouth, but words escaped him. So, he turned on his heel and walked straight out of the room, not allowing himself to look back.

Once out in the hall, he leaned against his door, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. What was the matter with him? He should have known that Malfoy would have an ulterior motive. Instead, Harry had played right into his hands.

Harry's mind returned to the memory that he had gotten from Malfoy. It seemed odd that an incident from nearly five years earlier would be the one drawn out. Was it a coincidence? Harry furrowed his brow, focusing on the image of Malfoy's face. What was he afraid of?

It was still relatively early in the evening, though it seemed like it had been much longer. Harry guessed that everyone was probably still downstairs. Not wanting to face anyone just yet, he set off up the stairs with no particular destination in mind.

As he stepped onto the fifth floor, landing, however, he saw a faint, silvery light stretching across the floor, emanating from the crack under Ron's door. Harry narrowed his eyes and moved over to the door, pressing his ear against it. He could not hear anything. Curiosity overcame his need to be alone, and he knocked. "Ron?" he called after a moment. Nothing. He tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. Taking a quick glance around to make sure no one was coming up the stairs, he pushed the door open.

Ron's room was as messy as always, clothes and books strewn everywhere. Harry's eyes were drawn immediately to the desk by the door, where the Pensieve sat, emitting the silver light he had seen. Next to it, one of the wooden boxes lay open, the interior expanded to fit what must have been over a hundred vials. The cabinet itself was sitting in the middle of the room, taking up what little floorspace there was.

As Harry started forward, the light brightened and Hermione was thrown backwards from the Pensieve, hitting the ground hard. "Oh, Harry." She stood up, readjusting her shirt. "What're you doing up here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Harry said.

"Oh, yes." Hermione looked a little flustered as she went to the Pensieve to draw the memory back into its vial. "I was just checking to see if any of these memories could help with destroying the locket." She closed the box and took it back to the cabinet. Harry tried to get a look at the initials, but she closed the door before he could.

"Any luck?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. I'm going to go check something in my books." She hurried from the room.

Harry stared after her for a moment. He found it odd that she would be looking through the memories without telling him or Ron. Wondering which ones she had been watching, he went to the cabinet and pulled the door open. Unfortunately, he was just in time to see the box that Hermione had put in slip out of sight, another random one sliding forward to take its place.

Harry made to close the cabinet again but hesitated, glancing back at the Pensieve. He knew it was a long shot. Even if Dumbledore knew something about Malfoy, the chances of it appearing in a memory were slim to none. Still, Harry supposed that it could not hurt to look. "Draco Abraxas Malfoy," he said. He pulled the box out and pried it open.

Harry's hopes fell when he saw the solitary vial inside. He knew he should have expected it. After all, why would Dumbledore have memories of Malfoy? He had probably hardly seen Malfoy at all except among the mass of students in the Great Hall everyday. Still, Harry picked up the vial and wiped the dust off. It was dated in April of their third year, and contained six other sets of initials. Though it took place over a year after Malfoy's memory, Harry decided to go ahead and take a look. He tipped the vial into the Pensieve and prodded the memories with his wand. They swirled around and cleared to reveal a bird's-eye view of Dumbledore's office. Taking a deep breath, Harry plunged his face into the Pensieve, feeling himself pitch forward.

He landed in the middle of the familiar office. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, watching the door with a pensive expression, as though he was waiting for someone. Seven chairs had been set up in front of his desk where there was normally only one.

Harry did not have long to wait. A knock on the door soon interrupted the silence. "Come in," Dumbledore said.

The door swung open and the Slytherin Quidditch team filed through. Malfoy was the last person in, dwarfed by the others. When they took their seats, he sat on the far left, hunched over and staring at the floor. The others seemed more at ease.

"I trust Professor Snape told you why you're here," Dumbledore said. When none of the boys spoke, he continued. "Certain allegations have been made against the Slytherin Quidditch team." At this, a few of the boys shot glares at Malfoy.

"I assure you, Professor," Flint said, "whatever you've heard is a lie. I'm sure Professor Snape has vouched for us."

Dumbledore stared at him over the top of his glasses for a moment. "While I respect Professor Snape's opinion, he is not present at your training sessions." He turned to one of the boys who was still giving Malfoy a nasty look. "Do you have something to say on the subject?"

One by one, the other team members, including Malfoy, confirmed Flint's assertion that the allegations were false. Dumbledore remained silent while they spoke, studying each of them carefully. "Very well," he said when they were finished. "Mr. Malfoy, I need to have a word with you about a discrepancy in your records. The rest of you may go."

The other Slytherins got up and started to leave. Flint smiled at Malfoy and squeezed his shoulder on the way out, but the others ignored him. When they had gone, Dumbledore pulled a piece of parchment from his desk. "You've been admitted to the hospital wing a number of times in the last couple of years," he said.

"I play Quidditch," Malfoy said shortly. "Broken bones come with the territory."

"Yes." Dumbledore glanced down at the parchment. "Concussions, skull fractures, broken wrists...quite common injuries on the Quidditch field. Curious though, there seem to be a few omissions in some of these records, particularly in the early part of last term."

"Shouldn't you take that up with Madam Pomfrey?"

"I intend to." Dumbledore fixed Malfoy with a calm, but piercing stare. "However, I imagine with the magnitude of her work, she might not be able to remember a case from a year and a half ago. Perhaps you can help me fill in the blanks. What was the nature of your visit?"

Malfoy met his gaze. "Bludger knocked me off my broom."

"And how long did you stay?"

"Overnight."

"I see." Dumbledore watched him for another moment, then rolled up the parchment. "That's all I need. Unless, of course, there was something else you wish to tell me."

"No, Professor. Can I go?"

"Harry?"

Harry nearly leapt out of his skin, turning to see Ron standing just behind him. Unsure of what to say, he looked around just in time to see Malfoy walk out the door. He glanced back at Ron briefly and, to stall for more time, concentrated on the image of Ron's room. Hoping he remembered how to do this right, he squeezed his eyes shut and jumped backwards. He felt a jerking sensation behind his navel, pulling him sharply into the air. Moments later, he hit the floor. Another thud and a groan told him that Ron had landed next to him.

"What was that about?" Ron asked as he got up, offering Harry a hand.

"I was checking something," Harry said. He moved over to the desk and used his wand to scoop the memory back into its vial.

"What?"

Harry shrugged as he put the box away. "Doesn't matter. I didn't find anything."

"But why Malfoy?"

Harry felt a twinge of irritation. "Look, Dumbledore left the Pensieve to me. I don't have to justify myself to you."

Ron looked taken aback. "I didn't...are you all right?"

For Harry had just started to massage his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "Fine," he muttered.

"Is it—?"

"It's nothing," Harry snapped, dropping his hands to his sides. "I'm going to bed." He fully expected Ron to try to stop him, but no such thing happened. He headed back down to his room.

Malfoy had cleared away the chessboard by now and was sitting in his corner, reading one of Harry's Occlumency books.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Research," Malfoy said, turning a page. "By the way, this book isn't worth the paper it's printed on." He glanced up. "You look like hell. More than usual, anyway."

Harry narrowed his eyes and sat on the edge of his bed. His headache was getting worse. It seemed to be focused in the front of his head, though he could not quite tell if it was his scar or not. He shut his eyes for a moment, but no images or emotions came to him.

Harry felt the mattress sag slightly and looked to see Malfoy sitting next to him. He got up at once, backing away. "You stay away from me."

Malfoy stood, too. "Oh, come off it. I thought we were past this sort of playing."

"Quit talking about this like it's a game."

Malfoy took a few steps forward. "Isn't it? I don't know what your aversion is, Potter. You seemed to enjoy it well enough last night."

Harry's back hit the wall. "It's not happening, Malfoy."

"Is that right?" Malfoy smirked, slowly closing the distance between them. Harry tried to reach for his wand, but Malfoy pinned his arm to the wall. "No one can see," he said, drawing Harry's wand and lightly tossing it across the room. "No one's ever going to find out. So, why not?"

Before Harry could even think to answer or try to pull away, Malfoy's lips met his. He pulled his arm from Malfoy's grasp and shoved him. He managed to break the kiss, but Malfoy grabbed his wrists and pushed him back again, his mouth closing over the crook of Harry's neck. A small gasp escaped Harry's lips, as a hot rush filled his body. His head was still killing him, but if he concentrated on the feeling of his shirt slowly sliding up over his chest, he could ignore the pain.

Half an hour later, Harry was lying in bed, his arm thrown over his eyes. He could feel Malfoy beside him, facing the other way, and longed to kick him out, to tell him to go back to his corner. His headache had returned in full force, however, and he knew that any movement would just make it worse. The mere act of breathing was agony.

It was only a matter of time now. He could feel his mind starting to slip, separating from his body. He did not even bother to fight it; he knew it was no use.

Harry stared into the fireplace, concentrating on the flames for a few more moments. Once the pain in his head had dulled, he finally looked around. Rookwood and a tall, middle-aged man with tangled brown hair stood by the door, watching him attentively.

Harry drew his wand, running it lightly through his fingers. "Do you know why I called you here, Nott?"

"My son," the man named Nott said in a low voice, his eyes flitting around as though looking for an escape.

"Yes, your son."

"He didn't know any better, my Lord. He thought he was helping."

"Hmm..." Harry glanced at Rookwood. "Helping whom, I wonder?"

"Please, my Lord. The moment I find him, I'll knock some sense into him. Mark my words."

"That you will. Then you will bring him to me, with a full escort. I don't want him slipping away again." 

Nott paled, but bowed deeply. "Yes, my Lord." He hurried out of the room.

Once he had gone, Rookwood spoke up. "The trial went well, my Lord?"

Harry's lips twitched. "Your brother is quite skilled at his job. Has he considered coming to work with us?"

"With all due respect, Janus would rather keep his connections to a minimum for the sake of appearances."

Harry nodded. "Very well. I trust you have news about our friend?"

"We've tracked down where he's staying. And who he's been contacting."

"Is it who we thought?"

"Yes. Shall I send a group to collect him?"

Harry paused for a moment. "Not yet. Wait until you can retrieve both. I'm certain an opportunity will present itself."

"Yes, my Lord."

"When it's done, take them to the place we discussed and contact me at once. Go."

Rookwood bowed and left the room.

Harry felt something scaly brush his feet, and a hissing voice spoke in a whisper. "_When?_"

"_Soon, Nagini_," Harry replied, tucking his wand back away and staring into the fire again. The great snake slithered up to the arm of his chair, and he put his hand out so that his fingers grazed her as she slid past. "_Very soon_."

- - - - -

Author's Note: Next chapter: Broken plates, emotions running rampant, and an unexpected move. A confrontation with the locket leaves lasting damage, someone discovers Harry's secret with terrible consequences, and tragedy befalls the Weasley family. I have quite the work load to juggle at the moment, so I can't say for sure how long it'll be until I can update again. It will probably be at least a couple of weeks.


	20. Chapter 20: Tragedy

Author's Note: A thousand thanks to all reviewers. I'm glad to see that Malfoy's characterization is going over well. I quite agree, he is a slimy git. Yes, I know, I said I wouldn't update for a couple of weeks. This is what happens when I have papers that I intensely don't want to write. Another special shout out goes to Rani for helping me come up with ideas for the stairs scene. I didn't wind up using any of them, but it was a fun mental exercise, nonetheless. Enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 20: Tragedy

"Ron, if you don't stop that right now, I'm going to have to throw this book at you."

Ron, who had been tapping his foot absently, stopped. "Don't know why you need us here anyway. It's not like we're doing anything."

"Harry isn't complaining," she pointed out, not even looking up from her notes.

"Hmm?" Harry glanced up at the mention of his name.

"Well, some of us are bored out of our minds," Ron said.

Hermione's hand clenched around her quill. "If you want to leave, then go. No one's stopping you."

Ron seemed to consider it, but did not move. "You've been at it for days. Give it a rest."

"I'll take a break for dinner."

"It's ten o'clock in the morning!"

"Either be quiet or get out."

This time he did go, slamming the door with more force than was necessary. Hermione flinched, leaving an ink blot on her notes. Growling under her breath, she balled the parchment up and tossed it into a small pile of discarded notes. "Nothing," she muttered. "Absolutely nothing."

"Why can't we use the _Caedus_ again?" Harry asked.

Hermione sighed, leaning back in her chair. "It's not the poison. It's the extraction. The soul isn't part of the alloy this time. It's inside the locket. Which means we need to figure out how to open it before we can destroy it."

"Any ideas yet?"

She shook her head and winced, pressing a hand to her forehead. She looked exhausted, as though she had not slept in days. Harry, who had taken to waking up very early in the morning himself, knew that she had not been going up to her room at night, but had instead taken to sleeping in the living room, often on the floor. When he asked her about it, she would just shrug and say she fell asleep reading.

"I'm going upstairs," she said finally and stood, gathering her books and notes, including the ones she had discarded.

She did not return for lunch. No one commented on her absence, though Ron did seem a bit uncomfortable. However, this may have been more due to Mrs. Weasley, who was fussing over the cuts on his arm and face. "They should be healing better than this," she said as she wrapped fresh bandages around his arm. "Are you sure they don't hurt?"

"They itch," Ron said, scratching his face.

Mrs. Weasley slapped his hand down. "Stop that. They'll never heal if you keep picking at them."

Once they had finished eating, Mrs. Weasley announced that she was going to Grimmauld Place for an Order meeting. "If anything happens, I want one of you to come get me straight away," she said, giving them each a quick hug before she left.

Harry got up and started filling a couple of plates with food. After a few moments, he noticed that Ron was watching him. "What?" he asked.

"You flinched," Ron said.

"Huh?"

"When Mum hugged you, you flinched."

Harry's heart leapt in his chest, and he fought to keep his face passive. "So?"

"You've never done that before. At least, not before we came back here." He paused for a moment. "Is it your scar again?"

"No."

"Then what?"

A knife slipped from Harry's hand with a loud clatter that seemed to echo in the quiet that followed. Then, he pushed one of the plates at Ron. "You'd better bring this up to Hermione." Without waiting for a reply, he picked up the other plate and left the room, heading up the stairs.

Upon setting eyes on the plate, Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "Is this really what passes for food in this house?"

"Keep talking and I might just forget to bring dinner," Harry said, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Fine. I suppose you don't want to know about Granger's little visit then."

Harry turned his gaze on Malfoy at once. "Hermione was here again? Today?"

"I thought that might get your attention." Malfoy took a bite of potatoes and made a face. "The question is, what is the information worth to you?"

"Tell me or you'll be eating cold toast for the rest of the week."

Malfoy smirked. "You're finally starting to learn, Potter. She turned the place upside-down not ten minutes ago. Took some little gold necklace. Never thought you for the..."

Harry never heard the rest of the sentence. He rushed out of the room, nearly colliding with Ron in the hallway.

"Harry, what—?"

"The locket," Harry said. "She took it."

Ron dropped the plate, potatoes splattering everywhere, and they took off up the stairs at a run. When they reached Hermione's floor, they did not even bother knocking. Ron waved his wand to unlock the door, and they burst inside.

Hermione let out a strangled yelp from across the room, spinning around to face them. She was wearing the locket.

"Hermione...?" Harry started.

"Don't!" She said, holding up a hand. "Don't come any closer."

Harry stopped in his tracks, but Ron did not. He only made it halfway across the room, however, when he stopped, pressing a hand to his head.

A moment of silence passed in which none of them moved. "Ron?" Hermione said tentatively.

The voice seemed to grab Ron's attention and he started for Hermione again, a dangerous glint in his eye. Hermione's eyes widened in fear, and Harry broke out of his stupor, hurrying forward, too.

When he reached the same spot where Ron had stopped, a great fog settled over his mind. He stumbled backwards a few steps giving his head a little shake. He looked up, but it was too late. Ron had already reached Hermione. He seized her by the shoulders, pushed her against the wall, and then...

He kissed her.

Harry froze, staring at the pair of them. Finally, Hermione managed to push Ron off of her, breathing heavily. "Ron, listen to me. You—"

Suddenly, the mist in Harry's mind transformed into a towering rage. "Great," he said, waving a hand at them. "We're in the middle of a war. People are dying out there, but by all means."

Ron whirled around, his eyes flashing. "Oh, you're one to talk. Tell me, how many hours have you wasted playing house-elf to Malfoy?"

Harry's fists clenched, and he rushed at Ron. A few feet away, however, he felt an odd sensation in his head, as though something was wriggling around in his brain. He stopped and pressed a hand to his forehead.

A scream caught Harry's attention. Hermione leaned against the wall again, tears streaming down her face. Her hand was clutched around the necklace, as though she had tried to remove it. Smoke curled up from the spots where the locket touched her hand and neck.

Concern flooded Harry, his eyes watering to the point that his vision blurred. "Herm—" His voice cut off with a groan as the squirming sensation in his head increased, his heart pounding in his ears. He thought he heard a voice whispering, too, but he could not quite tell what it was saying.

Hardly aware of what he was doing, Harry stepped toward Hermione. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a hand reaching out to stop him and shoved it away forcefully. Caught off guard, Ron fell over, hitting the floor hard. Harry stretched his hand toward Hermione and with one swift motion, flicked the locket open.

White, blinding light met Harry's eyes and pain erupted in his scar, sending him reeling. Ringing filled his ears, a sound both terrible and beautiful at once. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he was able to make out Hermione again. Then, he saw it: a tiny ball of light, only slightly larger than a grain of rice, hovering inside the locket.

Harry's hand reached out again, as though independent from his body. He was close enough to feel heat emanating from the locket now. As he continued to stare, he realized that the light inside was pulsating, like a tiny heartbeat. His own pulse quickened as his fingers drew nearer, now just inches away.

Then, a grunt sounded from far off and the locket slipped away. Ron had dived at Hermione, sending her tumbling to the ground. As Harry stared, his mind still fighting to sort out what had happened, Ron scrambled to his feet, and there was a loud crunching sound. All at once, the noise stopped, the pain in Harry's head evaporated, and he fell to his knees, shaking.

"Shit!" Ron swore loudly. He lifted his right foot and quickly pulled off his shoe and sock, the heels of which were emitting copious amounts of smoke. On the floor, the locket lay flattened, its glass shattered, the chain still wrapped around Hermione's neck.

Hermione herself was just starting to stir again. Harry's eyes were drawn to her right hand and he sucked in a quick breath. A strip of skin on her palm had been burned black. As she sat up, the chain shifted around her neck, revealing another patch of blackened skin.

Then, Hermione let out a strangled yell and, to Harry's horror, the affected areas of her skin started to grow, slowly spreading outward. He and Ron exchanged a look of panic.

"D...desk," Hermione gasped out, her eyes watering. "P...potion."

Forcibly shaking himself from his shock, Harry turned his attention to the desk. Among the mess of parchment and books, there was a bowl filled with a deep blue potion. He seized it and hurried over to Hermione. The moment the bowl was within reach, she plunged her good hand into it. The thick liquid clung to her fingers, and she drew them back out, applying the potion generously to the afflicted areas. Then she settled back against the wall, breathing heavily. The burned skin now stretched over a good portion of her neck, and her right hand was almost completely covered, black veins stretching as far as her forearm.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded, wincing as her hair brushed against and clung to the wound on her neck.

Ron finally broke free of his daze. "Have you lost your mind? Why were you trying to do this by yourself?"

"I would've done just fine if you two hadn't shown up," she shot back, pulling herself to her feet. She gingerly touched her mouth. "I think you bruised my lip."

Ron turned scarlet and stared at his feet, mumbling something unintelligible.

"But why did that happen?" Harry asked.

"The locket was messing with your emotions," Hermione said. "As the wearer, I was immune. I thought if I went it alone, I'd have an easier time of it."

"But you knew it would burn you," Ron said, waving his hand at the bowl. "What would you have done if you couldn't get to the potion in time?"

"I had a plan. Besides, it's not—ouch!" She had just tried to flex her fingers and grimaced again, clutching the hand to her chest.

Harry stared down at his own hands. "But...why didn't it burn me?"

Hermione glanced at Harry briefly. "Maybe it didn't see you as a threat," she said in a small voice.

"No, but it knew I was," Ron said, holding up his shoe, staring at them through the still-smoldering hole that had burned through the heel. Then, he gazed at the shattered locket. "So that's two down."

"But how're we going to find the next one?" Harry said. "We don't even know what it is."

"I'm still working on that," Hermione said, moving over to the desk.

"Oh, no you're not," Ron said. "You're taking a break. At least until Mum can have a look at those burns."

Hermione looked like she wanted to argue, but her shoulders slumped. "Fine." She shot another quick glance at Harry. "Um, Ron, can I have a word with you?"

Harry turned to Ron, but he seemed just as confused. "I'll just...go then," Harry said. Neither of the others tried to stop him.

About halfway down the stairs to the second floor, Harry froze in his tracks. The door to his room still stood open. Malfoy had ventured out of the room a few feet and was currently surveying the food scattered over the floor from the plate Ron had dropped. "Charming," he said. "Rest of the house look like this, or just the hallways?"

"Get back in the room," Harry said stiffly, "or you'll be trading it in for a cell."

Malfoy smirked and clicked his heels together. "Yes, Mr. Harry Potter, sir," he said in a mocking tone, retreating back into the room. Harry growled under his breath and set to cleaning up the mess.

Hermione and Ron did not come downstairs for nearly two hours. Ron's face was beet red and he refused to look Harry in the eye. Hermione, who had pulled her hair up into a bun to keep it off her neck, moved to sit on the sofa and opened a book to start reading.

"What was all that about?" Harry asked Ron.

Ron shook his head, muttering something about telling him later. Then, he raised his voice to address Hermione. "I thought you were going to take a break."

"I am," she said, holding up the book so they could read the title: _Palmer's Potion Compendium_. "See?"

Ron narrowed his eyes and moved behind the sofa, glancing over her shoulder. "A dictionary?"

"A _potion_ dictionary," Hermione corrected, turning a page. "There is a difference."

"But why?"

She sighed. "Oh, all right. I'm looking for more potions to help us. I thought this was as good a place as any to look."

Harry was still staring at the spine of the book. He was almost certain that he had never seen it before. "Where did you get that?"

Hermione shrugged. "Picked it up in Diagon Alley a few years ago." She turned a page and hunched down over the book.

Harry glanced at Ron briefly, and they headed into the kitchen. "I think she's still...Ron?"

"Huh?" Ron stopped just short of running into the table.

"What did you two talk about?"

"I'm...I'm not really sure."

"What?"

Ron sighed and sat down. "She ranted a lot," he mumbled. "She said you were right. That we're in the middle of a war and people are dying out there."

"Why—oh," Harry said, remembering the context in which he had said those things. "So, are you two...?"

"Well, that's just it. I don't know. She kept talking in circles. Then she just walked out right in the middle of a sentence." Ron hesitated, looking up. "What do you think?"

Harry shrugged. To be honest, he did not want to talk about it. He had never been quite comfortable with the idea of Ron and Hermione getting together, mostly because he knew what would happen to their friendship if they broke up, but this was different. The mere thought of discussing it made him feel ill.

"Are you—?"

"Fine," Harry muttered. To avoid the subject further, he turned and went back out to the sitting room. A moment later, Ron followed.

When Mrs. Weasley returned that evening, she caught sight of Hermione's injuries at once. She went to work immediately, casting a slew of spells on them.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, showing her the broken locket. "I found it at Grimmauld Place. I didn't realize it was cursed."

As unbelievable as the story was, Mrs. Weasley accepted it, clearly too worried about the burns to over-think the explanation. "They aren't healing. Let's at least cover them so they won't get infected."

"How was the meeting?" Harry asked.

"Uneventful. Hardly anyone turned up. Half the Order's still out looking for Arthur, and Mad-Eye's put together his own team to hunt down the Nott boy."

"Why does Moody care so much about catching him?"

"Nott's father is the reason he lost his leg." She finished with Hermione's bandages and stepped back to survey the three of them "I have half a mind to start locking you all in your rooms when I leave. Especially you, Hermione. I thought you had more sense."

Hermione just stared at the floor, biting her lip. Ron seemed to be trying not to look at her, focusing instead on a spot in the corner of the room.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Come on, then. It's time for dinner."

Harry was not hungry in the least, but he put on a show of eating to keep the others from asking questions. Still, midway through the meal, he became fed up with the questioning looks and announced that he was not feeling well. As he stood, Mrs. Weasley asked what he meant, and he mumbled something about being queasy.

When he reached his room, he found Malfoy reading one of his Occlumency books again. He glanced up when Harry entered. "I thought you were taking the mickey," he said.

"What?"

"About not bringing dinner."

"Oh." Harry glanced down at his empty hands, as though he might be able to will a plate to appear. "I forgot."

"Right. Funny how that always seems to happen."

"You're lucky you get anything at all."

"You have an interesting definition of 'luck.'"

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Can we not do this tonight? I'm really not in the mood."

"You say that a lot, Potter. I don't think you know what it means."

"You're hardly in a position to tell me what I don't know."

"Is that right?" Malfoy shut the book and stood. "Okay, we'll skip the prelude then." He started to advance toward Harry.

Harry retreated several steps, drawing his wand, but Malfoy did not even flinch. When he had closed the distance between them, he seized Harry's wrist. He pried the wand from Harry's hand, tucking it back into his waistband.

"Come on, Potter. White makes the first move. What's it going to be?"

Harry narrowed his eyes and pulled his hand out of Malfoy's grasp. Not missing a beat, Malfoy grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the wall, leaning in. Harry started to push him away, but Malfoy's hand snaked its way down the front of his trousers. Harry's breath hitched, his eyes rolling back in his head.

He did not hear the knock. He did not hear the lock click, or the door creak open. The voice, however, rang through loud and clear. "Harry, Mum wanted me...to..."

Harry's blood turned to ice as he broke off from Malfoy, turning to the door. Ron stood frozen in the doorway, a plate of treacle tart clutched in his hand, his face ashen.

Harry shoved Malfoy, who seemed similarly shocked, off of him and stepped forward tentatively. "Ron..."

The plate slipped from Ron's hands, shattering on the floor. He took no notice of it, stumbling backwards into the hall. His back hit the wall and he jumped, spinning around. Unfortunately, he moved too fast, and he was too close to the stairs. Harry rushed forward, but it was too late. Ron slipped just out of his reach and fell. His head slammed into a stair about midway down and he tumbled the rest of the way, rolling a few feet before finally coming to a halt.

Harry shot down the stairs like a rocket. "Ron? _Ron!_" He dropped to his knees next to Ron's still form. Ron's right arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and blood slowly pooled around his head. As Harry stared down at him, a roaring filled his ears, his vision blurring. This was not real. This could not be happening.

From far away, he heard quick, heavy footfalls. "Is everything all right up there? I heard—oh!" Mrs. Weasley gasped and rushed forward, kneeling on Ron's other side. Behind her, Hermione stood a few steps down, her eyes as wide as saucers and her hand covering her mouth.

Mrs. Weasley leaned over Ron, her ear hovering over his mouth. "He's breathing," she said. She gingerly lifted his head off the ground, wincing when she saw the blood matted in his hair, and waved her wand.

Nothing happened.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

"Why isn't it working?" Hermione said shrilly.

"I don't know." Mrs. Weasley lowered Ron's head and waved her wand over his body, levitating him into the air. "I want you two to stay right here. Don't leave the house." She flicked her wand again to float Ron's body toward the stairs.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice barely penetrated Harry's mind. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see her crouched next to him. "What happened?"

Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out. After a few moments, he just sighed and turned his eyes back on the blood. He felt oddly hollow, as though something had been ripped from his chest.

"Come on." Hermione tugged on his arm. "We shouldn't be here."

Harry numbly got to his feet. For a brief moment, his mind snapped back to reality and he glanced up the stairs, but the landing was empty, and his door was shut. He turned away, following Hermione down the stairs.

She brought him to the sitting room and led him to an armchair off to one side of the room. She herself settled down on the floor in front of the fireplace, staring into it. The embers still glowed slightly from the fire Mrs. Weasley had used to leave, illuminating her face. Dark circles under her eyes and no expression made her look almost dead.

Time passed strangely, seeming to fly and to crawl at the same time. Neither Harry nor Hermione moved from their spots once, still sitting in the same positions when the first rays of morning light streamed in through the windows.

Just a few minutes after sunrise, the fireplace flared, and Lupin's head appeared in the flames. "Molly sent me," he said. "Lower the wards."

Hermione leapt to her feet at once and went to the painting. Lupin withdrew his head. A moment later, the flames roared green and he stepped out, shaking soot out of his robes.

"Is Ron..?" Hermione trailed off, as though afraid to say the words.

"No time for that," Lupin said. "Molly wants you two at Grimmauld Place right away. Go. I'll get your things for you."

"But what about—?" Harry started.

"I'll take care of it. Just go."

Hermione left first, vanishing into the green flames. Harry hesitated again just in front of the fire, glancing back at Lupin. Then, he tossed the Floo Powder in and stepped forward.

Harry was not sure who he had expected to meet them when they reached the kitchen, but he did a double take when he saw who it was, his stomach clenching painfully.

Hermione seemed just as surprised. "Why—?"

"We were already here," Ginny said. Her cheeks were tinged pink, her eyes puffy. "Tonks is still setting up the wards on the shop. Come on. Mum's waiting."

She led them up the flights of stairs and down empty hallways. Silence pressed in all around Harry, threatening to smother him. The house felt dead, as though they were the only living souls there. About halfway down the third floor hallway, Ginny took a sharp right and pushed open a door, ushering them ahead of her.

What lay inside was just a normal bedroom. Potion vials and bandages were scattered over the desk, and a few extra chairs had been brought in, where Mrs. Weasley, Fred, and George now sat. Ron lay motionless on the bed, his arm in a sling and bandages wound tightly around his head.

Mrs. Weasley stood when they entered and gave Harry and Hermione each a hug. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long," she said. She looked like she had been crying. "It was a little touch and go there for a while."

"Is he okay?" Hermione asked.

Mrs. Weasley hesitated, glancing back at Ron. "Kingsley called in a few Healers that are loyal to the Order. They did what they could, but it seems that spell he got hit with last week is affecting his ability to be healed. They managed to stop the bleeding, but there's no way to tell yet if there's been any brain damage."

"Shouldn't he be in St. Mungo's?" Hermione said.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head, not looking at either of them. "St. Mungo's isn't safe anymore," she said softly.

"Mum," Ginny spoke up, lightly touching Mrs. Weasley's arm, "come on. Let's go make some tea."

Mrs. Weasley looked as though she might object for a moment, but finally allowed herself to be led out of the room.

"What happened at St. Mungo's?" Hermione asked in a low voice.

"You didn't hear?" George said. "St. Mungo's was attacked a couple days ago."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Was anyone hurt?"

"A couple of Healers were cursed, but that's it. The attackers haven't been identified yet."

Nobody spoke for a few moments. Then, Fred stood up. "We should go."

"You don't have to—" Hermione said.

"We have orders to send out," George explained. "Business doesn't stop just because the shop is closed. You'll come get us if he wakes up?"

"Yeah."

When they had gone, Hermione took Mrs. Weasley's empty chair, hunching over and rubbing her eyes. Harry could not bring himself to join her. He still felt as though he were caught in some horrible nightmare and would wake up at any moment. Taking that next step would make it all too real, and he was not ready for that yet.

Ginny returned a couple of hours later, looking slightly more at ease. "I convinced Mum to get some sleep." She turned to Harry. "Lupin wants to talk to you down in the kitchen."

It took a while for Harry to get his legs working again. He left the room and set off down the stairs. He found Lupin waiting for him, standing off to one side of the kitchen.

"I stored the trunks in the rooms you stayed in last time," Lupin said. "Malfoy's a little shaken up from the trip, but that's all."

Harry nodded silently, gazing at the floor.

"I'll look after him for the next couple of days or so, until this all sorts itself out."

Harry just nodded again.

"Are you all right, Harry?" When he did not receive a reply, Lupin pressed on. "Molly told me you were there when—"

"Fine," Harry said much too late. His voice sounded distant and not his own.

Lupin paused, looking as though he wanted to say more. Then, he sighed. "You should probably head back up."

Once again, it took Harry a few moments to start moving, trudging back up the stairs. When he reached the room, he took up sentry by the door again, staring listlessly at Ron.

Mrs. Weasley returned just a few hours later, looking even less rested than before. She tried to send Harry, Hermione, and Ginny off to bed, but did not put up a fuss when they refused. Ginny and Hermione took it upon themselves to make lunch, returning with a platter of sandwiches that sat untouched. Ginny left not long after that, mumbling something about checking in with Fred and George. She did not return.

That evening, Mrs. Weasley left the room. She returned about half an hour later with two cots floating along behind her. "You two should get some sleep," she said after she had set them up. "I need to go have a word with Kingsley."

Hermione took the cot closest to Ron's bed, lying on her side so that she faced him. Harry hesitated for a moment, but his legs were starting to hurt, so he finally moved over to his own cot and lay down, staring at the ceiling. He had not expected to be able to sleep, but exhaustion caught up with him. The moment his eyes closed, he felt himself start to sink.

The fire was burning low tonight, little more than embers. Nagini lay curled up near the hearth, warming herself on the bricks.

Harry turned his eyes toward the door. Two burly men stood there, holding a weedy-looking young man with stringy hair tightly by the arms. Rookwood stood off to one side, watching.

"You're quite the clever boy, Theodore," Harry said, "but far too reckless."

Theodore Nott pulled against the hands holding him, glaring.

"What should we do with him?" One of the wizards asked.

Harry glanced briefly at Rookwood. "Take him to the dungeons for now."

"Yes, my Lord."

Harry waited until they had gone before turning back to Rookwood. "Is everything in place?"

"Yes, my Lord. It's only a matter of time before she tries to make contact."

Harry nodded his approval. "You have your orders. Once you've taken them, have Nott and Malfoy moved as well."

"What about Weasley?"

Harry's lips curled. "I believe our friend has outlived his usefulness. _Nagini!_" He spoke the last word in a whispered hiss. A moment later, the great snake climbed up the back of his chair and rested her head on his shoulder. "_Do it quickly and come right back_."

Nagini flicked her tongue out, slithering silently to the floor and out of the room.

"My Lord?" Rookwood said.

"Go," Harry said, turning back to the fireplace. He waited until the door swung shut and then began to concentrate.

He slithered down the halls again. This time, though he was cold and lethargic, he did not even consider stopping. He traveled the familiar path, slipping between the metal bars.

The red-haired man was curled up on the floor once more under his ragged blanket. His skin was pale and shriveled, his eyes sunken. He was barely conscious and not even shivering anymore.

Harry moved swiftly across the room, slithering up against the man's exposed arm. The skin was much colder than he would have liked, but he resisted the urge to recoil. The man showed no reaction whatsoever, his eyes staring blankly and his mouth hanging open slightly. As Harry opened his mouth and sunk his teeth into the arm, he heard a scream from far away.

A dull pain shot through Harry's side as he hit the floor, having rolled out of bed, but it was only a pinprick compared to the agony in his head. He retched several times, but he had not eaten anything for so long that all that came up was liquid. He could hear someone yelling his name, but before he could even think about who it was, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed, blacking out.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. I'll just be over here, ducking the various objects being thrown at my head. Next chapter: depression, Firewhisky, and letters. Harry learns the true meaning of rock bottom, Lupin's deepest secret is finally revealed, and Malfoy gets a rude awakening. This next chapter's probably going to be another short one, but it's also rather delicate, so it may take a while to edit. Then again, who knows?


	21. Chapter 21: Midnight Confession

Author's Note: Many thanks to all who reviewed. As I said before, this chapter is short, but delicate. I tried to make it as clear as possible, but some things are implied rather than stated outright. If there is any confusion, please don't hesitate to ask. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 21: Midnight Confession

Only the kitchen table existed now. It was the only thing in Harry's vision, and nothing else mattered. Nothing else could matter.

He had not spoken since telling the others about his dream. Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, and Ginny had shut themselves in Ron's room right afterwards and were still there several hours later. At first, Harry had wondered what they were talking about, or if they were talking at all, but he realized now that it made no difference. Just as it made no difference whether or not Hermione was still sitting across from him. None of it mattered because they were all thinking the same thing.

Mr. Weasley was dead.

No one needed to see the body to know it was true. Nagini's bite was dangerous enough when the victim had proper medical care. In Harry's fifth year, the Order had known where Mr. Weasley was when he was attacked, and it had still almost killed him. This time, all they knew was that it was a dungeon. Even if they could find it, no one held any delusions that they would be able to get there in time.

Harry could still taste the blood in his mouth, and it made him sick. He wanted to vomit again, but there was nothing left to come up. He wanted something to distract him from this. He even considered going to find Malfoy. Anything to make him forget.

But his legs would not move. Because he knew that he did not deserve to forget, not even for a moment.

"Harry?"

He did not react to the hand on his shoulder.

"You really shouldn't be down here alone. We don't have wards up around the fireplace yet."

He just blinked. So, Hermione had gone.

Lupin sighed and moved over to the stove. Ten minutes later, he set out two cups of tea and took the seat directly across from Harry.

Harry stared at the tea. A slant of light from the fireplace gave the liquid a reddish tint that made his throat clench. "It tastes like metal," he heard himself say in a hoarse voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lupin nodded, speaking softly. "I know. Drink your tea. It'll help."

Harry did not remember picking up the cup. He was suddenly aware of warmth flooding his mouth, spreading down his throat and through his veins. His limbs felt disconnected from the rest of his body as his eyelids began to droop. The last thing he heard was the hollow sound of the cup hitting the table.

-

Harry awoke into darkness. As he lay staring at the ceiling, he became aware of a light snoring and turned to see the shadow of a boy a few years younger than him fast asleep in a bed across the room. He turned his eyes upward again. He had no idea where he was, but he did not care. He knew Lupin must have drugged him, but that did not matter either.

Harry sat up. His stiff muscles protested the movement, but he ignored the pain as he stood and left the room. He wandered down the hall in a daze, barely even aware that he was moving. As he ascended a set of stairs and started forward again, he almost ran into Hermione.

"Oh, you scared me," she said, pressing a hand over her chest. Harry tried to walk past her, but she reached out. "Wait, are you...?" She gasped as her fingers closed around his wrist. "You're cold."

Harry just stared at her hand. It did not occur to him that he could pull out of her grasp, nor did it really seem to matter much. It made no difference to him if he was moving or not.

Hermione gave him a piteous look and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him downstairs. They passed no one in the halls, and the house was silent as the grave. When they reached the kitchen, Lupin, Fred, and George were sitting at the table. The twins each had a glass in front of them, and a half empty bottle of Firewhisky sat on the table.

"Morning," Hermione said, leading Harry over to a chair, where he sat staring at the table. She took the seat next to him.

"Is it morning?" George asked.

Hermione shrugged. "Technically."

"We're going to Dad's office later," Fred explained, "to collect his things."

"Where's Ginny?"

"She went up last night to try to convince Mum to get some sleep. She hasn't been back."

A moment of silence passed in which the only sound was the pouring of Firewhisky. Then, a glass appeared in his field of vision. "Here," George said. "You look like you could use it."

Before Harry could even react. Hermione's hand appeared, pulling the glass away from him. His eyes followed it, and he saw her stern expression. "No."

"Oh, stop channeling Mum," George said. "Let him have it."

"Oh, yes, because getting drunk is working so well for you."

There was a loud scraping of chairs as they both leapt to their feet. Lupin stood a split second later, hands planted on the table. "Sit down, both of you. This is neither the time, nor the place. George, Hermione's right. Harry shouldn't be drinking right now."

George shot a glare at Lupin, grabbed the bottle of Firewhisky, and stalked out of the room, slamming the door.

Fred winced, massaging his head. "Sorry about that," he muttered. "He's had a few too many."

"You both have," Lupin said, taking his seat again. Hermione sat down too, looking slightly embarrassed at her own behavior.

No one spoke again for a long time. When morning came, Fred announced that he was going to find George. Lupin left soon after to make his morning rounds. As other people started to filter into the room, Hermione teamed up with another young witch to make breakfast. She made a plate for Harry, but he did not even put up a pretense of eating. He did drink a cup of tea, slightly disappointed to discover that it did not put him to sleep.

After breakfast was over, Hermione helped Harry stand and led him back upstairs. He thought that she might be taking him back to the room he had woken up in, but she took him to Ron's room instead. When he realized where they were, he stopped just inside, resisting her efforts to pull him toward a chair. She gave him an odd look, but left it alone, shutting the door.

Ginny was the only other one in the room, sitting up near Ron's head. She did not look up when they entered.

"How is he?" Hermione asked.

"The same," Ginny replied in a small voice. She sniffled. "That Healer Joanne was in here earlier. She says the longer he's out, the less likely it is he'll wake up."

Hermione sat down heavily on Ron's other side.

"I finally got Mum to go to sleep," Ginny continued. "I don't think she could bear to look at him anymore." She glanced at Harry and stood, walking over to him. She touched his arm lightly and led him out into the hall.

"I'm sorry we haven't really had a chance to talk yet," she said once the door was closed. "Are you okay?" When she received no reply, she spoke again. "No one blames you. You know that, right?"

"Maybe they should." Harry's voice cracked from non-use. He had not meant to speak, but the words came out before he could stop them.

"Now, don't do that," Ginny said. "We went over this last time. You-Know-Who killed Dad. Not you."

Harry gave a small start. He had thought she was referring to Ron, but his guilt was equally strong for both. "I was _there_. I should have been able to figure out where he was." Ginny reached out to touch his arm again, but he jerked away from her. He did not deserve her pity. Even if she was right and it was not his fault that Mr. Weasley was dead, he was still responsible for what happened to Ron.

Ginny sighed. "I can't do this again," she said. "You're going to have to work this one out yourself." She turned and walked away.

Harry spent the rest of that day in a haze. Later, he would only be able to remember bits and pieces: mostly being led around by Hermione or sitting in the kitchen. He did not see Ginny or Mrs. Weasley during this time. Fred and George returned around noon, but George was still cold toward Hermione, so they did not stick around for long. Harry did not sleep again that night, staying with Hermione in Ron's room instead. When Lupin came to look in on them the next morning, he scolded them and insisted that they each take a sleeping draught. Harry accepted it, grateful for a reprieve.

-

Harry did not wake up again until sunset. At first, he did not realize what had woken him, but then he felt a hand gently shake his shoulder. "Harry," a voice whispered in his ear. Unable to feign sleep any longer, he looked to see Ginny standing over him "Come on. Get up."

Harry wanted to do nothing of the sort, but he knew he did not have a choice in the matter. His muscles moved mechanically as he got to his feet. Ginny beckoned him out into the hallway, where she picked up her lantern off the floor. "Sorry I woke you," she said, her voice still quiet. The glow of the light made her look deathly pale, the shadows under her eyes almost black.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"It's Ron," she said. "He's awake."

Harry's breath hitched painfully.. "What?"

Ginny started to lead him slowly down the hall. "He woke up a couple hours ago. I thought you'd want to know."

"Has he said anything?"

She shook her head, stopping suddenly. Harry looked around and realized that they had already arrived at the door. She hesitated for a moment, then turned to look at him. "It's probably best not to mention Dad while we're in there. He doesn't know yet." When Harry nodded, she pushed the door open.

Harry was slightly surprised to see that the only people in the room were Hermione and a tall, dark-haired witch he did not know. Hermione sat in the chair nearest the bed, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, while the witch checked Ron's pulse. Ron himself sat upright, his broken right arm still bandaged and in a sling. His other hand rested limply on his lap, and he stared down at it, expressionless.

"This is Aura," Ginny said, indicating the witch.

Aura nodded once to acknowledge them. "Vitals are stable," she said. She gently tilted Ron's chin up and slowly moved her finger back and forth in front of his eyes, then snapped her fingers. "Still unresponsive." She turned to look at the others. "I have a couple other people to look in on tonight. If you need anything, Joanne's room is just down the hall."

"Thanks," Ginny said. Once Aura had gone, she made her way across the room. She lowered her voice to whisper to Hermione, but the words carried across the room anyway. "Where are Fred and George?"

"They said they had some business to take care of."

Ginny hesitated for a moment. "Has Mum been in yet?"

Hermione shook her head.

Ginny sighed and took the nearest chair. Harry stayed right where he was, still unable to make himself move any closer.

Nobody spoke for nearly an hour. Finally, Ginny stood up, announcing that she was going to check on her mother. Hermione showed no reaction to her going. After a few more moments, she reached out, as though to touch Ron's arm, but then withdrew her hand swiftly, standing. "I...I have to get some air," she said, her voice wavering as she hurried from the room.

The sound of the door shutting echoed in the deafening silence. The air felt thick and heavy, and Harry had to struggle for every breath. He wanted to leave, to run away, but he could not. Rather, he found himself stepping forward, his legs moving of their own volition. He sat in Hermione's vacant chair, and, after a few moments, slowly reached out.

Ron's hand jerked away from his. "Don't," he said hoarsely.

Harry's heart hammered in his chest. "Ron—?"

"I said, 'don't.'" Ron winced, as though every word pained him. "I can't..." He paused, swallowed, and started again. "I can't even look at you right now." After a long pause, he spoke again. "Was that the first time?"

Harry shook his head. The thought of lying did not even cross his mind.

"How long?"

"A month, maybe. I don't know."

"Why?"

Harry sighed heavily, staring at the ground. "It's...it's complicated."

"Don't give me that shit," Ron growled. "Explain it to me, because I've done nothing but try to understand."

Harry grasped for something to say, but his mind betrayed him. "I don't know," he said finally.

Silence stretched for so long, Harry thought for a moment that Ron had gone quiet.

"I won't tell anyone," Ron said suddenly.

Harry gave a little start. "What?"

"You heard me."

Harry opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"Don't," Ron said again. He shifted himself forward and lay down, staring up at the ceiling. "Just go."

Harry stood obediently and left the room. He passed a sniffling Hermione in the hallway, but paid her no attention, even when she called after him. He slowly descended the stairs to the second floor, walking a short distance down the hallway. Then, he stopped, leaning against the wall. Part of him wanted to go to his room, to find Malfoy. The other part, the one that held him back, did not know what it wanted.

Then, he looked up at the door across the hall, and a new clarity filled his mind. He knew what he had to do. He could not put it off any longer. He pushed himself away from the wall, stepping forward. He raised his fist and hesitated, feeling as though the whole world was crashing around him. Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

There was a muffled shuffling sound from inside the room. A moment later, the door swung open, and Lupin stood on the other side, rubbing his eyes. "Harry? What—?"

"I need to talk to you," Harry said.

The exhaustion disappeared from Lupin's eyes at once, and he nodded. "Come on in."

Harry took a few steps inside, cringing slightly when he heard the door shut behind him. Lupin pulled out the desk chair for him, but he did not take it. They just stood for a moment, each waiting for the other to speak first.

"How's Ron?" Lupin asked finally.

Harry focused on a spot just over Lupin's shoulder. "He's awake."

"That's good." Lupin paused. "But I'm guessing that's not what you wanted to talk about."

Harry shook his head. Then he sighed, sitting down heavily on the chair. "I need your help."

Lupin nodded and sat on the edge of his bed. "I'm listening."

And so, Harry began to speak. He was not sure where to start, so he went back to the beginning: the moment Hermione first brought Malfoy to the Dursleys. He told Lupin everything, every instant he had tried so hard to forget. He included all of his visions and even the memory of Malfoy he had seen in the Pensieve. The longer he spoke, the easier it became to continue. By the time he came to Ron's fall, his voice was strong, though his memory after that point was hazy. Lupin did not interrupt once. He watched Harry's face passively, showing no reaction to any of his words.

After Harry had finished, a long silence stretched between them. He stared down at his hands, wishing Lupin would say something, anything. When it was obvious that he would not, Harry spoke again. "You knew, didn't you?"

"I knew about the first time. He told me when I questioned him. But I promise you, I had no idea that it had gone this far. If I did, I would have confronted you long before now."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just...I thought it would just go away." Harry felt exceedingly stupid.

"Don't apologize," Lupin said. He hesitated. "I have something to show you." He moved over to his bed and knelt down, reaching under it to retrieve the black box from which he had pulled the letter from Regulus what seemed a million years previous. He handed the box to Harry and sat down again.

Harry gave Lupin a questioning look and pried the box open. He saw a mismatch of things inside, sitting on top of a mountain of parchment scraps. He set the box on the desk and slowly began to unload the items: a leather book, a square mirror, an eagle feather quill, and a set of runes. Then, he began to pull out the parchment, unfolding them one by one.

They were letters. Hundreds of letters. There were several more from Regulus, mostly talking about his summers or complaining about Sirius. There were a few short ones from Harry's father and one from Wormtail. But the vast majority, on parchment which was worn thin and with writing that had faded and been smudged beyond readability, were written in the same familiar scrawl.

"Sirius," Harry said in a low voice.

Lupin nodded. "I should've told you earlier. Maybe we could have avoided this whole mess."

"When?" Harry asked.

"It started in our sixth year. I was upset with him over the prank on Snape, and..." He laughed a little under his breath. "In a way, I think it was Sirius's attempt at an apology. He never was very good with words."

Something nagged in the back of Harry's mind, and curiosity overtook him. He told Lupin about the memory he had seen in the Pensieve so many weeks earlier, of Lupin and Snape in Dumbledore's office.

"Ah, yes." Lupin smiled a little. "That was not one of my better moments. Let's just say that Snape made a comment about Sirius that hit a little too close to the mark. Sirius gave me that on my birthday that year," he added when Harry picked up the leather book.

Harry flicked the book open, but all he found inside were blank pages.

"I wasn't very good with words either," Lupin said, taking the diary and setting it carefully on the desk.

"After he got back from Azkaban, were you two still..."

Lupin shook his head. "After Regulus died, I confessed my friendship with him to Sirius. Everything fell apart after that."

"That's it? He just ended it?"

"Yes. You have to understand, Harry, I don't wish to taint the memory of your godfather. I kept secrets from him. I take full responsibility." He sighed. "The point is, Harry, things were never the same between us. After I left my job at Hogwarts, we tried to repair our friendship as best as we could, but..." He trailed off.

"Why didn't he ever tell me?"

"I convinced him not to. You were still so young, Harry, I didn't know if you could handle it. I wish now that we had told you."

"How many people knew?"

"Not many. I think your dad might've suspected." When Harry said nothing, he continued. "I know your situation is completely different, but I thought it might help you to know."

Harry nodded. It did help, enough so that he had the courage to ask the important question. "Are you going to turn Malfoy in?"

Lupin shook his head. "No. I'll leave that decision up to you. It goes without saying that I think you should."

Harry said nothing for a few moments. Then, his shoulders slumped. "I can't. I can't deal with that. Not yet, anyway."

"I understand."

"So, what now?"

"That's up to you. If you do decide to carry on with this, my only advice is to make the best of the situation. Most importantly, you need to draw your battle lines. Remember, he's the prisoner, not you."

Harry nodded again.

"Do you think you'll be okay?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "It'd be a lot easier if I could..." He trailed off as inspiration struck him, and he stood up. His legs were stiff from sitting for so long, but they felt stronger. The first rays of daylight were starting to stream through the window by now. "Thanks."

Lupin looked a little surprised by the sudden movement, but gave him as small smile nevertheless. "It's no trouble. I'm always here if you need to talk."

Harry crossed the room, but stopped with his hand hovering over the doorknob, debating with himself. "Does Tonks know?" he asked finally, glancing back.

Lupin did not meet his eye. "No."

-

Harry's trunk had been stored up against the wall opposite the door in the room. It looked as though no one had stayed there since they had left the previous week, though Harry knew that did not necessarily mean anything.

Malfoy was lying curled up in his usual corner, fast asleep. Harry stared for a moment, gathering his courage. Then, he walked over and nudged Malfoy in the ribs with his foot. "Get up."

Malfoy groaned and blinked up at him. "Lay off, Potter. It's too early." He started to turn over.

Harry kicked him a little harder. "I said, 'get up.'"

"Okay, okay." Malfoy stood, stretching his arms. "What's the fuss? Am I being stuffed in a trunk again?"

"Get your wand," Harry said, drawing his own. "You're going to teach me Occlumency."

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: an ultimatum, a reunion, and a goodbye. An unexpected visitor draws mixed reaction, the Order has its own difficulties, and Ron begins his physical therapy. I have no clue when the next chapter will be ready, so just keep your eyes peeled for updates.


	22. Chapter 22: Lingering Pains

Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed. To avoid ending up with a huge author's note, I've made another LiveJournal post to address questions and issues, mostly dealing with character motivations. Again, my sign-in name is pottersister666. The only issue that I will address here has to do with character confusion. I glanced back over the chapter and did not see any places where Hermione and Ginny were mixed up, though I can see where some of the scenes might have made it unclear who was doing what. If there's a specific part that's confusing, feel free to ask about it. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 22: Lingering Pains

"What?"

"You heard me," Harry said. "I need to learn Occlumency. _You_ are going to teach me."

Malfoy laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. "And just why would I want to do that?"

"Because if you don't, I'll turn you in."

"I thought we already went over this. I'll tell them your secret."

"Go ahead. I don't care anymore."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "You're bluffing." He made to walk away.

Harry's hand shot up, planting against the wall to block his path. "Am I?"

Malfoy paused, and, when Harry met his gaze, his eyes flickered briefly. "And if I do teach you?"

"I won't turn you in."

"You expect me to trust you?"

"I don't see how you have much of a choice."

Malfoy hesitated again. "Fine. But we're going to do this my way. It'd take years to teach you from those books."

"Fine." Harry backed off, keeping a sharp eye as Malfoy drew his wand from the invisible holster on his thigh.

"How much training have you had?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged. "A bit."

"Who taught you?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Well, I doubt you can tell me what method you were taught. The teacher will at least give me a clue."

"Snape," Harry said, glaring.

Malfoy blinked. "Well, that is interesting. Okay, let's get started. Put your wand away."

Harry's heart leapt in his throat. "What?"

"You're joking. Snape actually let you keep your wand?" Malfoy laughed. "Let me guess, he let you do spells, too?"

"Forget it, Malfoy. I'm not—"

"Look, obviously you're not very good at this. Which means you're not going to be able to control your magic. So if a spell hits me and I have to be rushed out of here bleeding, what are you going to do then?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Can't you do Legilimency without a wand?"

"Only against someone with no defenses. Otherwise, I need to be able to channel the magic. So, what's it going to be, Potter?"

Harry paused for a moment. "Remember, if anything happens to me, nobody will protect you." He tossed his wand onto his bed and held his hands out to either side. "Go ahead."

"_Legilimens!_"

For the next two hours, Harry endured an almost constant bombardment on his mind. Malfoy dredged up memory after memory, from fights with Dudley to Quidditch games. Harry, who had not attempted to perform Occlumency in over a year, had absolutely no luck in fending him off.

As Harry relived Dudley's seventh birthday, when he had burned himself on the stove and been locking in his cupboard for half a day, a knocking sound came from nowhere. The vision lifted at once, and he was left on his hands and knees, breathing heavily.

Malfoy hurriedly tucked his wand away and moved back to his corner. "You'd better get that."

Harry struggled to his feet and swayed slightly, his vision blurring. He shook his head and stumbled over to open the door.

"Oh, good, you are awake," Hermione said. Her brow furrowed, and she reached up to feel his forehead. "Are you okay? You look a little feverish."

"I'm fine," he said, brushing her hand away. "Really."

She still looked unconvinced, but did not press the issue. "Are you up for breakfast?"

"Yeah," Harry said, stepping out into the hall and shutting the door.

Hermione blinked, as though surprised that she did not have to convince him. "Okay. Let's go then."

Fred and George were absent from breakfast. Ginny whispered to Harry that they were staying with a friend near Diagon Alley until the wards on the shop were finished. Hermione met this news with silence, staring down at her plate. Mrs. Weasley was gone as well, but Ginny only shrugged when asked where she was.

After breakfast, the three of them headed upstairs to visit Ron. When they entered, they found Mrs. Weasley sitting next to Ron's bed, hand-feeding him a bowl of porridge. He did not look particularly happy about it.

"Mum," Ginny said in surprise, "you're here."

"Well, of course I'm here," Mrs. Weasley said, not once taking her eyes off of Ron. She looked as though she had not slept a wink, but seemed surprisingly cheerful otherwise. "Where else would I be?"

"Hi, Ron," Hermione said, sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed. "How're you feeling?"

Ron shrugged and held up his hand to stop the spoon heading for his mouth.

"He hasn't talked much," Mrs. Weasley said, setting aside the bowl and gently patting Ron's bandaged head. He batted her hand away.

They spent the rest of their morning in the room. As Mrs. Weasley had said, Ron did not speak much, mostly replying to questions by nodding or shaking his head. After a while, when Harry was sure that Ron was not going to mention their talk the previous day, he relaxed a little and joined the others in sitting around the bed. He noticed that Ron never quite looked in his direction, eyes glancing over him as though he was not there. Still, Harry decided to count his blessings and kept his mouth shut.

At noon, the Healer Aura came in to check on Ron, shooing out everyone except Mrs. Weasley. So, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny headed back downstairs for lunch. When they returned, Ginny carrying a bowl of soup for Ron, Aura had left. Mrs. Weasley tried to feed Ron again, but he insisted on doing it himself. In addition to the sling preventing him from using his right hand, however, his motor coordination was off, and he wound up spilling more on himself than he got in his mouth. No one commented, and when he finally pushed the bowl away in frustration, Mrs. Weasley waved her wand to clean up the mess.

They remained in the room until that night, when Aura returned and insisted that Ron get some sleep. As everyone started filing toward the door, Ron spoke. "Harry? Wait."

Harry glanced at Aura, who smiled indulgently. "Five minutes," she said. "Then he really needs to get some rest."

So, Harry waited as Aura herded the others out. "I'm sorry," he said after a long silence.

"Me too." Ron leaned back against the headboard. "I've had a lot of time to think about it. You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"I wish that I could."

"But you can't. Quite frankly, I'd rather you didn't." He paused. "Does anyone else know?"

"Yeah."

"But, let me guess, you can't tell me who."

Harry shook his head.

Ron did not speak again for a long time, staring down at his hands. "Is Dad really gone?" he asked in a small voice.

Harry nodded, his throat clenching too painfully to speak.

Ron sighed, his shoulders slumping. "How did things get so fucked up?"

Harry could only shrug in response. After a few moments, Ron lay down, staring at the ceiling. Taking this as his hint to leave, Harry went to the door and started downstairs.

The kitchen was already filled with over a dozen people eating dinner when he arrived, including a face he had not seen in over a month. "Hello there, Harry," Charlie Weasley said. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry said, taking the seat next to Hermione.

"What did Ron want?" she muttered under her breath.

Harry just shrugged and turned his full attention on his food.

"Have you heard from Bill and Fleur yet?" Charlie asked his mother.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Just this morning. They'll be here in a couple of days."

Charlie hesitated. "What about—?"

As though on cue, the fireplace flared green and a skinny, red-haired man stumbled out, robes disheveled and glasses askew. Dead silence filled the room as the people at the table stared at him, and he gazed sheepishly back.

Then, Mrs. Weasley stood and crossed the room, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Percy," she said in a low, wavering voice, "how—?"

"Perkins told me," Percy replied. "How are you?"

Mrs. Weasley grabbed his face between her hands, pulling him down so she could kiss his cheek. "Better now."

When she had finally let go of him, Percy surveyed the room. He smiled at Harry and Hermione, but then furrowed his brow. "Where's Ron?"

Another hush fell over the table. Mrs. Weasley gazed up at him sadly. "Come with me," she said, linking their arms and leading him toward the door.

"Well," Charlie said after a few moments, "that was—Ginny?"

Ginny, who had just stood up abruptly, hurried out of the room as well, giving no sign that she had heard him.

Hermione nudged Harry's arm, but he was already rising. He gave no explanation for leaving, and no one asked for one.

Harry walked up the stairs slowly, not wanting Ginny to notice him following her, even though it meant losing track of her once he made it to the Entrance Hall. Going on a hunch, he strode over to the front door and pulled it open. Sure enough, he spotted Ginny out near the street, sitting on a tree stump. He moved to stand beside her, staring out in the same direction as her.

"How did you know?" she asked, not looking up.

"I knew you wouldn't want to run into anyone," Harry replied. When she did not speak again, he pressed on. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Ginny said, wiping her eyes. "It's just...God, it's so stupid."

"Well, you're in luck. I happen to know a lot about being stupid." Harry settled down cross-legged on the ground. "Go ahead. You can't surprise me."

This time, Ginny did look at him. In spite of the tears that glistened on her face, she laughed a little.

"What?" Harry said.

"You look like a kid waiting for a story."

"Well, if that helps." He paused. "Is it about Percy?"

Ginny's turned away again, her smile disappearing. "Yeah." She sighed. "It's just...he walks in, and it's like he was never gone. A hug and everything's fine."

"And you're upset because it wasn't the same for you?"

She nodded, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. "I'm a horrible person."

"No, you're not," Harry said. "You're honest."

She stared at the ground, speaking shakily. "For three days, I've done nothing but try to be the perfect daughter, and she won't even look at me. It's not fair."

"You're right. It's not."

"Maybe I should just go. It's not like anyone would miss me."

"I would."

Ginny gave a start, glancing back at him. Then, after a moment, she gave a small smile. "What happened to you? Yesterday we were getting more out of Ron than you."

Harry smirked. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try..." She stopped suddenly and leapt to her feet, drawing her wand.

"What—?"

"Someone was watching us."

Harry jumped up, fumbling for his own wand. "Where?"

"Over there," Ginny said, pointing toward a small grove of trees across the street.

Harry stared at the spot for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," she said. "I didn't get a good look at him. Some old guy."

Harry sucked in a quick breath. "Aberforth," he muttered.

"What—?"

"Get inside. Now." He started forward.

Ginny caught his arm. "Oh, no you don't. He's probably gone by now, anyway."

Harry glanced back at the trees reluctantly, but he had to admit that she was right. So, he followed her back inside. They headed down to the kitchen, where they found Charlie and Hermione still sitting at the table. Charlie met the news with only a curt nod and went to the fireplace to contact Kingsley.

"Are you sure it was Aberforth?" Hermione asked while he was occupied.

Ginny shrugged. "I only saw him for a second."

"It has to be," Harry said. "Who else would know to look here?"

Charlie withdrew his head after only a few minutes. "Get upstairs, shut yourselves in your rooms, and don't come out until morning. We're going into lock down."

"What about the Order?" Harry asked.

"Kingsley's passing the word along, but he can't gather enough together to protect the house."

"Can we help?"

"Yes. You can go upstairs and let me do my job."

Knowing that it was no use to argue further, they did as they were told. "I'll go tell Mum," Ginny said, hurrying off ahead of the others.

Hermione stopped on the first floor. "Is she really okay?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's just the stress, you know?"

"Hmm." She nodded, absently fiddling with the bandages on her arm.

"Does it still hurt?"

"Not as bad now." She paused a moment and sighed. "I can't believe he's gone."

"I know," Harry said. "I can't either."

Hermione wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. "I can't imagine what it must've been like," she said, her voice wavering, "seeing it happen."

Harry was not sure what to say, so he remained silent.

She released him, wiping her eyes. "I know you're probably tired of hearing it, but—"

"I'm fine," Harry said.

She stared at him for a moment. Then, the corners of her mouth twitched. "You'd better go before Charlie comes up to yell at us."

When Harry reached his room, he found Malfoy crouched on the floor, putting the finishing touches on a miniature maze built out of parchment. It was about three feet on each side, with intricate pathways, each only about an inch wide. Harry's Occlumency books lay open next to it.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Trying to make sense of their metaphors," Malfoy said. He waved his wand over his hand, conjuring a red ball the size of a marble. He examined it for a moment, then placed it in the center of the maze.

"Is it working?"

"Not yet." He straightened up, groaning as he stretched his muscles. "In the meantime..." He flicked his wand. "_Legilimens!_"

Harry was lying in his cupboard, nursing a bloody nose from Dudley. This image faded, and he was riding a Thestral, the wind whipping through his hair. Then, he was leaning in toward Ginny...

Harry felt a surge of rage, glanced up at Malfoy, and focused all of the anger on him. Ginny vanished, and he had a brief glimpse of a Quidditch changing room before he felt something push back against his mind, finding himself on his hands and knees.

"Just as I thought," Malfoy said, breathing harshly, his face pale. "You only know how to react."

"What's the difference?" Harry said, standing up. "It works."

"No, it doesn't. It doesn't keep me from seeing the memory. All it does is tell me that it's important."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Either get to the point or get on with it."

Malfoy sighed and pulled out the desk chair. "Sit."

Harry hesitated, a little put off by being ordered around, but finally opted to do so.

Malfoy sat on the bed. "What you're doing isn't Occlumency. You're just reversing the Legilimency. Unless you want to severely piss off your attacker, you shouldn't do that."

"So..."

"There are two basic types of Occlumency. You can keep the person out, or you can modify your memories to show what you want them to see. The latter is more practical, but you can't learn it until you've mastered the former." He stood. "Lesson over."

Harry jumped to his feet. "No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. This isn't like other spells, Potter. Hours of practice doesn't make you better. It makes you irrational. Get some sleep, and we'll try again in the morning." He returned his attention to the maze.

Harry hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was give Malfoy hints to why he needed to learn, but necessity won out. "If I needed to do Occlumency while I'm sleeping," he said finally, "how would I go about doing that?"

Malfoy glanced up. "An interesting question. What did Snape tell you?"

"He said to clear my mind. But that never works."

"Hmm." Malfoy paused for a moment. "Technically speaking, Occlumency while sleeping is reserved for the most advanced Occlumens. The mind is most vulnerable when it's dreaming. For right now, just stay as alert as possible. If you start dreaming about something strange or you feel something in your mind that shouldn't be there, push it out. If nothing else, the force should be enough to wake you up." Another pause. "Out of curiosity, is this to keep me out? Or someone else?"

"None of your business."

Malfoy paled, but smirked. "Someone else, then." He turned back to the maze.

Harry blinked. That was it? He had been more than prepared to fight off any advances that Malfoy might try to make. He knew he should be glad that Malfoy was not coming after him, but oddly he was not. It was not that he wanted Malfoy to either. It just seemed so anti-climatic that rather than being relieved, he felt distinctly unsettled.

But even as Harry went to lie down, Malfoy still did not pay him any attention. He had conjured about half dozen more of the red balls and was placing them in random pathways. He consulted the book again and pointed his wand at the maze. A little bolt of blue light shot out, ripping through the walls, leaving behind a tattered mess. He frowned, waved his wand again to restore the maze, and leaned against the wall, glaring at it.

When Harry was sure that Malfoy was not going to bother him that night, he finally turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of what Malfoy had said. How was he supposed to tell if he was having a strange dream? He was never even aware that he was dreaming. Besides, at the moment, his problem was not Voldemort being in his mind, but rather the other way around.

Harry was sure that he must have fallen asleep at some point, though he could not say when. All he knew was that he closed his eyes one moment and opened them the next to find bright sunlight streaming through the window. He sat up at once, but there was no need. Malfoy was fast asleep in the corner of the room. The maze he had built still sat in the middle of the floor. The parchment walls were starting to look extremely worn, and Harry strongly suspected that magic was the only thing keeping them up.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the palms of his hands against them. He could not remember dreaming, and his scar felt normal. He held no delusions that he had performed Occlumency, however. After all, Voldemort had skipped nights before. All it meant was that he did not have anything that he wanted Harry to see.

A groan made Harry look up. Malfoy was starting to stir, sitting up and stretching his arms. His back popped audibly. "Ow," he said in a dry voice. He looked around at Harry, smirking. "Surprised, Potter?"

"Not really." Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and got to his feet as well. He made his way to the bathroom, shutting the door.

Harry considered waiting. He wanted to start his lessons, but he knew that there was no time. Breakfast would be starting soon, and the others would wonder where he was. So, he reluctantly left the room.

When he reached the landing of the stairs, he heard a raised voice coming from the first floor. He descended a few steps and saw Hermione walking up the hall, arms folded tightly over her chest. Charlie followed close behind.

"...could've gotten yourself killed. Really, Hermione, I thought you were smarter than that."

Hermione raised a hand to wipe her eyes and took a sharp left, retreating into her room.

Charlie stood staring at the door for a moment, then turned to Harry. "Somebody needs to talk to her." He said, pointing at the spot where she had disappeared.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"I caught her trying to sneak back downstairs last night, after I explicitly told you all to stay up here. I had traps set down there. She could've been seriously hurt." He paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and sighed. "You can go down now. The traps are still up in the Entrance Hall, but I've marked off a clear path to the kitchen." He set off up the stairs.

Harry could do nothing but stare after him. Hermione had bent rules before, but he had never known her to outright disobey an order for no good reason. And, if she did have a reason, she usually at least told him or Ron first. What was she keeping from them?

As Harry descended the stairs to the kitchen, he heard another voice shouting. "...those guards _now!_ Not tomorrow, not the next day. _Now!_ I can't keep—Kingsley? _Kingsley?!_" Harry entered the kitchen just in time to see Lupin kick a chair halfway across the room, swearing loudly.

Harry froze. What was going on in this house?

Lupin glanced around. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."

"What was that about?" Harry asked.

Lupin shook his head, moving to pick up the chair. "The full moon is in four days, and Kingsley still doesn't have a team of guards assembled. We're going to have forty-seven full-fledged werewolves on our hands; it can't be left for the last minute."

"Why isn't Kingsley forming a team?"

Lupin hesitated. Then, he sighed, sitting down. "Harry, what I'm about to tell you can't leave this room. Molly has enough to deal with." When Harry nodded, he continued. "Kingsley put together a team of fifteen Order members to search for Arthur. Since he's sent out word that Arthur is dead, only two have reported back."

"So the others just...disappeared?"

"We don't know. It's only been a few days, so we're hoping that it's just a communication problem."

"How many Order members are there left?"

"About forty, give or take. Of those, five are out hunting for the Nott boy, and more than half are on guard duty somewhere else."

"How many do you need to guard the house?"

"Fifteen is the bare minimum. Otherwise, we're going to have to start evacuating everyone who isn't infected."

"To where?"

Lupin shrugged. "Hogwarts, most likely. Besides St. Mungo's, it's the only big enough place left with any sort of protective wards." He looked as though he wanted to continue, but the sound of footsteps stopped him. When Ginny came in, he forced a smile. "I should go. Those plates don't make themselves."

Ginny set to making breakfast at once, not even glancing at Harry. He did not ask where Mrs. Weasley was. He knew she was probably with Ron, and he imagined it was still a sore topic for Ginny anyway. As others slowly started trickling into the room, Harry finally took notice of the lack of Order members among them. Charlie was the only one he saw. Mrs. Weasley, Percy, and Hermione did not turn up.

Harry left midway through the meal without explanation. He was a bit surprised that Ginny did not try to stop him but was also glad for it. He went up to the first floor and knocked on Hermione's door, but there was no answer, so he continued on up to Ron's room.

When he pushed the door open, he saw Ron sitting up already. Hermione was in the chair beside him. Their left hands clasped tightly, though neither was looking at the other. With the bandages on their right arms, Ron's head, and Hermione's neck, they looked like the war survivors, clinging to each other after a great battle. As Harry watched them, he felt awash with guilt. While he had been so preoccupied with his problems, they were risking their lives to help him.

Hermione glanced up finally, and the moment ended. "Harry," she said, withdrawing her hand from Ron's. He turned his head to stare down at his own hand, as though he could not quite figure out why she had let go.

Harry formed his face into a careful mask. "Where's Mrs. Weasley?" he asked.

"She and Percy went back to the Burrow to get some things," Hermione said.

"What about the wards?"

"Lupin left them down so we could get back in. Percy went with just in case there's an attack."

Aura walked in just then, cutting off any further conversation. She went to the desk, picking up a vial of blue potion and examining it. "Did you take your Strengthening Potion?" she asked.

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Do I have to?"

"If you want to get better before the year ends." She picked up another, larger vial that contained a pale green potion and carried it back to Ron. "You know how this goes."

Ron reluctantly raised the vial to his lips, taking a sip. He grimaced and looked as though he was going to vomit. Then, he swallowed and held the vial out to Aura with a shaking hand. "Happy?"

"Thrilled," Aura said with a smile. She set the potion on the bedside table and retrieved a clipboard and quill from the drawer. Then, she glanced at Harry and Hermione. "I have to do a standard survey. You two can stay if you want, but I'll need you to be quiet so we can get through this."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other. Neither made a move to leave.

"Very well," Aura said, turning her eyes back to her clipboard. "How are you feeling?"

"Brilliant," Ron said. "Never better."

"You can leave off the sarcasm, Mr. Weasley. Is your neck still bothering you?"

"Yeah."

"But no back problems?

"No."

"Still having the migraines?"

He nodded.

"Hmm." She made herself a note. "Any vision problems?"

"No."

"No other sensory problems?"

"No." Ron started fidgeting with his sling.

"Is your arm bothering you?"

"It itches."

"Understandable. We'll change your bandages after we've finished up here." She set the clipboard down. "Hold your left arm out straight." When Ron did so, she put out her hand, supporting the arm. "Count off, one through five." He slowly extended his fingers one by one. "Make a fist." She checked his hand over for a few moments. "Move your arm out to the side." He did so. "Now, raise it as high as you can." He lifted his arm until it was almost vertical. Aura gently pushed it the rest of the way and checked his fist again. Then, she released the arm, which fell back to Ron's side. "Very good. Now, the other hand. Count off."

Ron's right hand did not fair as well. The fingers would not extend or bend fully. By the time he got to three, his breathing had quickened, his jaw clenched tightly. At the end, he flexed his fingers into a loose fist, which Aura spent a long time examining.

"Better," she said, retrieving her clipboard and jotting down a quick note. "How do your legs feel?"

"Stiff."

"No other pain?"

"No."

"Good." She pulled back the sheets to uncover Ron's legs and lightly pressed on the bottom of his left foot. "Can you feel this?"

"Yeah."

She moved on to the other. "And this."

"Uh-huh."

"Lift your left foot just a bit. The right. Now both. Very good." She slid a hand underneath Ron's left calf and slowly began to bend his knee. "Let me know when it starts to hurt." She did this with both legs, each of which made it about midway to his chest before he winced. "Better, much better. Do you feel ready to try standing?"

Ron took a deep breath and nodded.

"All right." She looked up. "I'll need some help supporting him. Mr. Potter, will you—?"

"No," Ron interrupted, his head snapping up. Then, his face reddened and he glanced down again, as though embarrassed by his own outburst.

Dead silence followed. Harry knew Hermione was trying to catch his eye with her questioning gaze, but he looked the other way. His stomach rolling and his throat tightening, he found it difficult to keep a neutral expression. Finally, his mind pushed past its block and he was able to speak. "I have to go anyway," he said lamely, turning toward the door.

As he left, he heard Aura speak in a slightly lowered voice. "Okay, Miss Granger. Hold him up by the shoulder, like..." The door shut, cutting her off.

Harry made it about halfway down the hall before the first wave hit him. He leaned against the wall and sat down heavily. His vision blurred, and he pressed his fingers against his eyelids, taking a deep breath. He could not do this. Not here. Not when anyone could see him.

He heard a mumbled voice and looked up. Parvati had just appeared on the landing, wearing a set of red dress robes, led along by another witch a few years older than her, who was whispering in her ear.

"Harry?" Parvati said after a moment.

"Yeah," Harry said in as steady a voice as he could manage, standing up. "You're dressed up."

She gave a small, sad smile. "Yeah. That's actually why I'm here. I came to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

"I'm going to stay with my grandmum in India."

"Oh. Uh..." He hesitated.

"That's okay. You don't have to say anything." She stepped away from the other witch, stretching her hand out. She groped the air for a few moments before finding Harry's arm and drew him into a hug. "Goodbye, Harry."

Harry took a second to react. Then, he numbly wrapped his arms around her, too. "Goodbye."

She drew back, wiping her eyes. "Is Hermione in Ron's room? I want to say goodbye to them too."

"Yeah."

The other witch stepped forward, taking Parvati's arm again, leading her away. Harry stared after them until they disappeared into Ron's room. Then, he turned and started down the stairs.

Ginny was already in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, lazily pointing her wand at a sink full of dishes to make them clean themselves.

"Your Mum would kill you if she saw you doing that," Harry said lightly.

Ginny glanced up. "Yeah, like you haven't done magic this summer." She flicked her wand, sending a clean dish soaring into the cabinet. "Did Parvati find you?"

"Yeah." Harry sat across from her, folding his hands on the table to try to stop them from shaking.

She turned to him. "Are you—?"

"Tired of people asking how I am?" he snapped before he could stop himself.

She flinched, turning her eyes downward. "Right. Sorry."

The anger left him. "No, I'm sorry."

Ginny paused, as though she wanted to say something else. Then, she sighed and stood up, walking over to the sink to start washing dishes by hand. After a moment, Harry got up and went to help.

Harry spent the rest of the morning and afternoon with Ginny in the kitchen, though they did not talk much. He did not see Hermione again until dinner, when she finally came downstairs. Mrs. Weasley and Percy returned around that time as well, carrying a couple of bags packed with clothes for her and Ron. Ginny left the table a few minutes after they arrived, muttering that she was going to check on Ron. Harry knew that the others expected him to go after her again, but stayed in his seat. He was not ready to see Ron again.

As he was heading upstairs after dinner, Hermione cornered him on the first floor. "What was that about?"

"What?" Harry said.

"Don't give me that. You know exactly what I mean."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Ask Ron."

"I did. Now I'm asking you."

"Oh, so I'm being punished because he wouldn't tell you?"

"That's not..." She sighed. "Did you two have a fight before...before he fell?"

The hesitation was split second, but it sparked Harry's anger. "If you're going to accuse me of something," he said in a dangerously low voice, "then say it."

"I'm not accusing you. I just want to help—"

"I don't need your help." Harry started to walk away.

"Harry." Hermione's hand closed over his wrist.

He froze. Then, he turned his attention back on her. "What were you doing downstairs last night?" He had not meant to ask that question, but the words came out before he could stop them. Once it was said, he did not regret it one bit.

Hermione drew her arm back as though he had bitten her. "What?"

"You heard me."

She retreated a few steps. "I...I..."

"Not so easy on the other side," Harry said, "is it?" Before she could reply, he turned and walked away, heading upstairs.

When he entered the room, shutting the door with considerable force, Malfoy glanced up from the maze, which was now littered with little metal balls of every shade imaginable. "What crawled up your arse, Potter?"

"Get up," Harry said. "No more wasting time."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. Then, he stood, drawing his wand. "_Legilimens!_"

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: If you thought things couldn't get any worse, you were dead wrong. Malfoy's irate, the Order takes another hit, and one of the trio meets with a terrible fate. I'm still trying to decide where to cut this chapter off, but that preview should be fairly accurate.


	23. Chapter 23: Living Nightmares

Author's Note: Many thanks to all reviewers. There were only a couple of questions this time, so no LJ post. Someone asked what it was that Ginny did that was so bad. If you'll recall, she moved out of the Burrow several chapters ago, causing a rift in the Weasley family with herself and the twins on one side and their parents on the other. If anyone needs more of a refresher than that, just ask and I'll send a private message. I know it can be hard to keep track of the little details, especially with so much other plot going on. Now (here's where I get a bit vague), there have also been remarks about the dreary nature of this story. I don't want to give anything away, so here's all I have to say on the subject: If you're looking for a happy story, this isn't it. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 23: Living Nightmares

The next four days passed with very little occurrence. Bill and Fleur arrived on the second day and were almost immediately put to work by Charlie to help guard the house at night. Ron started spending more of his waking hours in physical therapy sessions with Aura, and Harry found himself going to see him less and less. Hermione, on the other hand, began to spend more time with Ron, hardly speaking a word to Harry. He strongly suspected that she was avoiding him.

Meanwhile, Harry's Occlumency lessons were going nowhere. It seemed that Malfoy was not even teaching him anything, only repeating Snape's lessons in different words. "Anticipate the attack," he would say. "Get your defenses up _before_ the spell hits."

The lessons never lasted more than a couple of hours. Malfoy continued to insist that any more than that would be counterproductive. Afterwards, he would usually rope Harry into a chess game (which Harry would always lose, of course). Then, when Harry went to bed, he would turn his attention back to the maze that now took up the majority of the floorspace in the room. He gave no further explanation about it. Judging by the almost constant frustration that showed through on his face, he was not having much luck with whatever it was.

On the morning of the full moon, tensions were running high. Lupin finally had his guards, the bare minimum of fifteen, including Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and Percy. The group huddled together on one side of the kitchen table, discussing how best to handle the situation. The few werewolves who had come for breakfast sat at the other end of the table, remaining deathly silent.

After breakfast ended, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Percy went upstairs to visit Ron. Ginny muttered something about sending an owl to the twins and stood as well. Not wanting to wait for the Order to kick him out, Harry got up and headed to his room.

When he opened the door, he did a double-take. All the furniture in the room had been shoved up against one wall. The rest of the floor was taken up by the maze, the pathways of which had been expanded to slightly larger than the width of Harry's foot. There were about twenty of the red balls scattered throughout the maze now, enlarged to a couple inches in diameter. Malfoy was standing in the middle of it all, his feet planted carefully in the pathways. He had one of the balls in his hand, which he was currently contemplating.

"What...?" Harry gaped, at a loss for words.

"I got tired of working on a small scale," Malfoy said. He tapped the ball with his wand, turning it green. Then, he gave it a little shake, and it went back to red. He frowned. "I need more space."

"Well, you can't have it," Harry said. He carefully stepped into the room and shut the door. "And you can't leave it like this."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Fine. But first..." He tossed the ball to Harry. "What is this?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was a trick question. "It looks like a mini Quaffle." He threw it back.

Malfoy caught it. "Exactly." He tapped it with his wand again and it turned into a tiny Triwizard Cup. He shook his head and changed it back. "Maybe I'm thinking too hard."

"Not something you normally do, is it?" Harry said with an edge to his voice. He crossed the room, flattening several of the walls of the maze on the way, and sat on the edge of his bed.

Malfoy cocked his head to one side. "All right," he said, dropping the ball back into the maze and waving his wand. The parchment walls collapsed, skittered across the room, and reformed into a tiny maze again in the corner. "We'll do this your way. _Legilimens!_"

Harry was standing on the roof of his primary school, wondering how he got there. The scene shifted, and he was in the Hog's Head, talking to a roomful of potential D.A. members. Then, he was lying on his stomach, his face pressed into his pillow, a voice whispering in his ear.

Harry's heart leapt in his chest, but before he could react, the spell lifted, and he found himself lying flat on his back, his legs still dangling over the side of the bed. Malfoy had stepped forward and was leaning over him now, wand pointed at Harry's chest. "Don't have to ask about that one," Malfoy said in a low voice.

Harry felt something pressed against his leg and narrowed his eyes, kicking out. His foot connected with Malfoy's calf, knocking his legs out from under him. Malfoy grunted as he hit the floor and swore loudly.

Harry stood, crossing his arms over his chest. "I told you. No more games."

To his surprise, Malfoy smirked. "Congratulations, Potter, you finally grew a pair." He struggled to his feet, wincing. "But you didn't have to crush mine in the process. Fuck, _ow!_" He hobbled across the room and leaned back against the wall, breathing deeply.

"You deserve worse," Harry said.

"Fair point," Malfoy muttered. He pushed himself off the wall. "For future reference, I'm not nearly good enough to seek out specific memories. Things at the front of your mind are more likely to come up, but otherwise, it's random."

"Good to know," Harry said. "Can we get on with it?"

Malfoy stared for a moment. Then, he raised his wand again.

As the session went on, Harry lost track of time. Malfoy never pulled more than four or five memories in a row, but each time, Harry insisted that they continue. He managed to push Malfoy out of his mind a few times, though never consistently enough to know how he did it.

Then, suddenly, Malfoy let up. "That's it. We're done."

"No," Harry said.

"Yes. We've wasted enough time. Besides, they're probably wondering where you are."

Harry glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly five o'clock. He wondered for a moment why no one had come to get him, but he supposed they were all too busy worrying about other things. Still, he knew that he should probably go before someone did decide to investigate.

As he neared the door, however, he looked back. Malfoy had already stopped paying attention to him. He had busied himself with setting up a chess game, his eyes flitting between it and the maze. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips curled into a slight frown. He reached out, his hand lighting on top of one of the pawns, but did not move it.

Harry shook himself and left the room.

Dinner that night was early and nearly silent. Only Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ginny, and a few others that Harry did not know were present. The guards were busy with preparations for that night, rationing out the Wolfsbane potion and locking the more dangerous werewolves away on the top floor.

"Everyone's to go to their rooms and stay there," Mrs. Weasley said when they had finished eating. "No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, don't open your doors until morning."

So, Harry returned upstairs with the others. Ginny matched his pace, though she did not speak. When they reached his door, Harry stopped, and she did as well. "Where are you staying?" he asked.

"There's a few of us sharing a room on the third floor. It's a bit crowded, but..." She shrugged. A moment of silence passed, in which she made no move to leave.

Harry had a feeling that he knew what she was waiting for. "I'd invite you in, but..."

"I know." She glanced away, a slight blush rising in her cheeks. Then, she leaned toward Harry.

He pulled away from her without even thinking. She noticed and stopped, her lips hovering just inches from his.

"Right," she said, backing up a couple of steps. "I'm sorry."

"No," Harry said. "Don't be. It's not..." His throat clenched, and he mentally kicked himself.

She cocked her head to one side. "What?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

"No. There's something else you're not telling me. Wait!" She caught his arm as he turned toward his door.

Caught off guard by the sudden contact, Harry jerked away from her so forcefully he slammed into the wall, a jolt of pain shooting through his elbow.

Ginny drew back again, looking slightly alarmed. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Harry did not answer, his eyes cast downward, face burning with shame. He had thought he was past this.

"Harry?" She reached up toward his cheek.

He caught her wrist. "Don't."

She blinked and pulled out of his grasp. "Silly me," she said softly, "I thought we were still friends."

"Ginny...?" But it was too late. She was already walking away, not showing any sign of having heard him. Harry stared after her for a long time, even after she disappeared from sight. Finally, he turned away, opening his door.

The sun had set by now, the room cast in a silvery light. Malfoy was standing by the window, looking out into the night. He did not turn when Harry entered. "Full moon," he said after a moment.

"Yeah." Harry glanced around for something else to say. His eyes fell on the chessboard. "Care for a game?"

They were midway through their second game when the first howl sounded, setting off a chorus of replies. Malfoy flinched so badly he knocked over half of his pieces.

"What's with you and werewolves?" Harry asked, reaching over to right a fallen knight.

"Hmm...let me think," Malfoy said, "big hairy beasts that could kill me. Wow, I just can't think of anything." He moved a bishop and leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.

Just minutes later, when the flurry of howls had started to die down, Harry heard the muffled pounding of footsteps from the hall, as though a couple of people had just run past, and the howls started up again.

"What was that?" Malfoy asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Harry shrugged. "I'll go check." He stood and walked to the door, drawing his wand.

The hall was empty and quiet save for the continued howling. Harry crept along through the darkness, wand at the ready. He did not dare cast _Lumos_, not wanting to alert anyone or anything to his presence.

He stopped midway up the stairs when he spotted Bill, Charlie, and Hestia Jones huddled about midway down the hall. Harry strained his ears, catching the tail end of Charlie's whispered words. "...back inside?"

Jones nodded. "The room's locked up tight. They won't be getting back out tonight." She jerked her head at a door.

"Where'd they take him?" Bill asked.

"Your brother's room. Don't worry," she added, "he's out cold. Aura and Joanne are in there right now."

Charlie, who had just started toward Ron's room, turned his attention toward the stairs. "Harry," he said.

"What happened?" Harry climbed up to the landing. "Is someone hurt?"

"Go back to your room."

Bill stepped forward. "No, don't." He glanced back at his brother. "He's already here. He has the right to know."

"Know what?" Harry asked.

Charlie stared at Bill with narrowed eyes for another moment, and then wordlessly pointed to Ron's door.

When Harry pushed the door open, it hit something. Mrs. Weasley, who had been standing on the other side, jumped and turned. "Oh, Harry," she said. "Why..."

But the rest of her words were drowned out by the roaring in Harry's ears. He saw a huge gray wolf lying on a cot set up a few feet away from Ron's bed. Bandages were wrapped tightly around its neck, blood already seeping through. The healer Joanne was bent over the animal, cleaning a huge gash in its side, her hands protected by dragon hide gloves that stretched up to her elbows. Aura, who wore a similar pair of gloves, was examining its head, which was also bleeding profusely.

"Don't," Mrs. Weasley grabbed Harry by the shoulders to stop him moving forward. "Let them do their jobs."

"Is..." Harry said shakily. He paused, swallowing. His mouth was dry. "Is it...?"

Mrs. Weasley's grip tightened, but she said nothing.

Harry glanced around and saw Ron sitting up in his bed. He was gazing at the wolf as well, his face pale and blank.

It took nearly an hour for them to finish bandaging the wounds. "I've managed to heal his skull fracture," Aura said. "There may be brain damage, but I'm afraid I don't know enough about werewolves to repair it."

"Will you be able to fix it when he turns back?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"I'll do what I can," Aura said, "but the damage may already be done by then." She beckoned for Joanne to follow her out the door. "We'll be back to adjust his bandages before the transformation."

When they had gone, no one spoke for a long time. "H...how...?" Harry finally spoke, but he could not get the words out.

"Apparently the wolves got out of control upstairs," Mrs. Weasley said. "The guards managed to get them off of him, but not before..." She trailed off. Then, she patted his shoulder. "I need to go talk to Bill. I imagine you'll want to...to stay with him." She turned to leave.

Harry stood by the door for another moment. Then, he slowly started forward. There were no chairs by the cot, so he stood at the foot. For the second time in just over a week, he felt as though he was stuck in a dream, a surreal nightmare that he would wake up from at any moment. Someone had made a mistake. That dark gray mass, rising and falling with each breath the wolf took, was not him. Harry clung to that hope, even though he knew it was a long shot.

Just as promised, Aura and Joanne returned just before dawn. They carefully loosened the bandages and stood waiting. Finally, as the sun rose, the wolf slowly began to change shape, its fur receding. Harry crossed to the other side of the room, facing the wall. He was not ready to look. Not yet.

The Healers bustled around behind him for ten minutes in silence. "He's not responding," Aura said in a low voice that carried nevertheless. Then, she spoke again a little louder. "We have to report to the Order. I'll be back later."

The sound of the door closing echoed so loudly Harry cringed.

"Are you...?" Ron said after a long silence, trailing off as though unsure of how that sentence should end.

"I don't know," Harry said truthfully. He took a deep breath and turned around.

Lupin lay unconscious on the cot, blankets pulled up to cover his body. Fresh bandages had been wrapped around his wounds, and his head appeared to be healed. His skin was white as a sheet, and though his breathing was steady, it was also frighteningly slow.

Harry moved forward again. This time, he grabbed a chair so he could sit at Lupin's side, his back turned to Ron. He hunched over, folding his hands and staring at them. Unlike when Ron had been injured, he did not feel numb. On the contrary, every emotion inside him felt heightened, every nerve alight, as though an electric current ran through his body. Still, all he could do was stare.

Ron sighed. "Things keep getting worse," he muttered. "How do they keep getting worse?"

"I don't know," Harry repeated.

Hermione arrived a few moments later, immediately walking over to hug Harry. "I came as soon as I heard," she whispered.

"Is anyone else hurt?" Harry asked.

She straightened up, shaking her head. "The Order's up in arms over this though. I overheard a couple of the guards talking about turning out the werewolves. The ones who attacked him, anyway."

"But where will they go?"

"Back to Greyback, most likely. Where else _can_ they go?" The door opened just then, and she jumped, spinning around. Mrs. Weasley stepped in carrying a tray of food, effectively ending the conversation.

Harry kept count that day. Twelve people asked him if he was okay. Most were people he did not even know. His answers ranged from shrugs to a mumbled, "Fine." Beyond that, he remained silent, and no one prompted him to talk further.

At dinner that night, Bill asked if anyone had tried to contact Tonks yet.

"She's supposed to finish up Fred and George's shop tonight," Mrs. Weasley said shakily. "I imagine she'll be back sometime tomorrow."

Harry's heart leapt into his throat and the fork fell from his hand with a clatter.

"Harry?" Hermione said. "Are you—?"

Thirteen. "Fine," Harry muttered, standing to leave. No one tried to stop him.

He did not have a clear idea of what he was doing until he found himself outside Lupin's room. He tried the doorknob, slightly surprised to find it unlocked. He pushed the door open and strode inside, glancing around. The room looked exactly as it had before: as though no one had ever lived in it. Except now it also felt empty. Harry shook himself and moved over to the bed, reaching under it and drawing out the box of letters.

He hesitated then for the first time, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Tonks would be devastated when she found out about the attack. He could not even imagine how seeing the box would affect her.

But did she not have the right to know? After all, there was a possibility that Lupin might never wake up. An image of Lupin's face after answering the question flashed through Harry's mind, his eyes filled with regret. Would he want her to know?

Then, Harry's mind turned to the night that Ron had fallen. He remembered Ron standing there, staring. Then, he imagined Ginny in Ron's place, her lips parted slightly, gazing at him with that shocked, horrified expression. His vision blurred, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to will the thought away.

Finally, he stood. He tapped the box with his wand, shrinking it down so that it fit in his pocket.

Tonks might have the right to know, but not like this. If and when she did find out, it would be from Lupin. Harry could give him that much.

-

Just as Harry had predicted, Tonks was completely shattered by the news. She started spending so much time with Lupin that Ron had to ask the Healers to move him to a different room just to get a decent night of sleep. On the rare occasion that she was not hovering by Lupin's bedside, Tonks could be found wandering the halls like a ghost, mousy-brown hair hanging in limp tendrils around a pale face.

Meanwhile, her job of putting up wards was delegated to Charlie, Bill, and Fleur. Percy volunteered to go as well. They set out just two days after she arrived, each heading to a different location to start setting up safe houses. People were still arriving at Grimmauld Place at a rate of one every couple of days, and space was starting to become a serious issue. Luckily, Harry had not yet been asked to share his room with anyone. He imagined if things went on much longer, however, he would soon find himself backed into a corner.

Life at Grimmauld Place had become almost completely silent now. Everyone in the Order had left save for Mrs. Weasley. She and Ginny split the task of bringing food around to the werewolves, most of whom remained in their rooms now. (Harry had to start sneaking meals away for Malfoy again.) When Ginny was not doing this, she was usually helping her mother out around the house, and Harry rarely saw either of them except during meals. Hermione was similarly absent, spending almost all of her time helping out Aura with Ron's physical therapy. Harry did not know exactly how far he had progressed, though he did see him taking tiny steps down the third floor hallway one day, supported by Hermione and Aura on either side, his arm still held tight in its sling.

Harry spent most of the four days after Tonks came back practicing Occlumency. Or, rather, he spent it trying to push Malfoy out of his mind, attempts which seemed almost futile now. He had not had a single vision since the one of Mr. Weasley's death, and his scar had not hurt at all. He knew it would happen again eventually, but a part of him could not help but wonder if he was wasting his time. Malfoy was also starting to pull up memories of Harry's past visions, which, although he did not comment on them, made Harry extremely uncomfortable.

Malfoy's attempts at understanding the maze had also come to nothing. He seemed to become increasingly edgy and more willing to extend the number of training sessions to three or four a day, each lasting for upwards of three hours. It got to the point where Harry sometimes had to be the one to stop them because he could not continue. They no longer played chess or even spoke to each other more than was absolutely necessary.

Around the middle of the fourth night, when Harry was reliving a particularly terrible memory of watching Sirius fall through the veil, the image lifted suddenly. Harry looked up from his position on the floor and saw Malfoy staring at the door, wand still held aloft.

"I heard something," Malfoy said in a voice slightly strained from non-use.

Harry stood and walked shakily to the door, swiping the back of his hand over his forehead and finding it slick with sweat. Glancing back to make sure that Malfoy had hidden himself away in the bathroom, he opened the door a crack.

It took a moment for Harry's eyes to adjust and another to find the source of the noise. Then, he spotted Ron on the floor, propped sideways against the wall, his legs sprawled out as though he had fallen down.

"What...?" Harry's voice cracked, and he coughed, stepping out into the hall. "What are you doing out here?"

Ron shrugged. "I thought I'd come downstairs for breakfast."

"It's midnight."

"Really? I started out just after Hermione went to bed. I thought it might take me that long to get there."

Harry smiled a little in spite of himself, the muscles in his face twitching. He stepped across the hall and offered Ron a hand.

He did not take it. Instead, he glanced past Harry. Harry looked around to see Malfoy standing in the doorway. Nobody moved for a long time, tension mounting with each passing moment. Then, finally, Malfoy shut the door.

Harry watched the spot for another moment, then glanced back at Ron. His expression was as blank as it had been the day he woke up, his eyes unfocused and staring.

"It's not—" Harry started.

"Don't." Ron planted his good arm against the wall and slowly began to pull himself to his feet, speaking in short bursts. "I don't...want...to know...what it was...or wasn't." He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and breathing shakily.

"Then what do you want from me?" Harry asked.

Ron's eyes opened, finally locking with Harry's. "Nothing," he said. He turned and resumed his slow progression down the hall. His footsteps were uneven, and he rested most of his weight on his left leg, but he seemed more than capable of making it on his own. Still, Harry had the mental image of him tumbling down the stairs again, so he followed. Ron did not complain, nor even acknowledge him.

When they got to the kitchen, Harry was shocked to see someone kneeling in front of the fireplace, their head engulfed by green flames. He recognized it as Hermione, but exchanged a bewildered look with Ron over what she was doing.

Then, before Harry could even decide how to react, he heard a muffled, far off scream, and Hermione's body pitched forward. He rushed over, but it was too late. She had already vanished, the flames dying in her wake.

"W..." There was a dull thump as Ron's legs gave out and he hit the floor. "What happened? _Where is she?!_"

Harry dropped to his knees, his head slowly shaking back and forth. His mind could not even conceive of what he had seen, much less explain it. All he could do was stare at the embers and wish that he would just wake up.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: cells, whispers, and trades. Many roads lead to St. Dymphna's, but do any lead out? I know that was probably confusing, but this is a hard one to preview. Sorry, folks, no Draco in the next chapter. Again, the plot demands that it be so. It may be out early to mid-next week, but I'm not making any promises.


	24. Chapter 24: St Dymphna's

Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed. Yeah, I know, there are a lot of storylines and it's a little fast-paced. If all goes according to plan, everything should make sense by the end of the fic. Also, don't quote me on this, but things may slow back down a bit soon (read: in a few chapters or so). And don't worry, there's still plenty of Harry/Draco interaction on the horizon. That said, enjoy.

Chapter 24: St. Dymphna's

Come morning, Mrs. Weasley found Harry and Ron where they had fallen and helped them each into a chair. It took nearly an hour, but Harry finally became coherent enough to tell her what had happened. Ron did not speak at all, his eyes firmly planted on table. Harry could not even look at him, reminded too much of his own reaction to Mr. Weasley dying.

"I'll alert Kingsley," Mrs. Weasley said. Tears glistened in her eyes, and she fought to keep her voice steady. "I want both of you to stay here. Don't go anywhere." She strode over to the fireplace, threw in a handful of Floo Powder, and disappeared into the flames.

She returned half an hour later, looking extremely irate. "He's out of the office," she said. "Not expected back until tomorrow night."

Ron's head shot up. "Hermione could be dead by tomorrow night!"

"I know," Mrs. Weasley said. "I've alerted Professor McGonagall. Resources at Hogwarts are stretched, but she's sent out Professors Sinistra and Vector to see what they can find out."

"We can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"I know, Ron. I know. You have to understand though, the Order has no reserves. Everyone's out on assignment, which means there's no way to contact them." She sighed and moved to the stove to start making breakfast.

Harry passed the rest of the day in varying states of awareness. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny helped Ron back upstairs after breakfast, but Harry remained in the kitchen. He did not need to be anywhere else, so he did not see the point in moving. He had the vague thought that he should go up to his room and practice Occlumency, but he had no motivation to. In fact, he wished that Voldemort _would_ try to get into his mind. If he did, Harry was determined to work things in his favor this time.

He got his chance that night. After dinner, he remained in the kitchen after everyone else had left. Mrs. Weasley was the last to go, only leaving when he had promised to go to sleep soon.

Once she was gone, Harry stood. He had been thinking about the best way to go about this all day. He knew that he would never be able to get to sleep, and, even if he did, he could not trust that he would have a vision. He remembered the way that each of his most recent dreams had begun, and so he moved over to the fireplace, settling down in front of it. He drew his wand to conjure a fire and stared into it. As the flames flickered before his eyes, he tried to recall the feelings of calm he had during those first, brief moments and replicate them.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath. "Where are you?"

Time slipped past. Minutes. Hours. Harry's legs ached horribly, and he felt a trickle of sweat down the back of his neck, but he did not allow himself to move. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, his scar began to itch. Trying to quell the sudden swell of relief that spread through him, he closed his eyes, waiting. Then, all at once, pain exploded in his head, and he felt a tug, as though by an invisible rope tied around his waist.

When his mind cleared again, Harry was still staring into a fire. He turned away from it at once to check the clock on the opposite wall. It was just past midnight. He drew up the hood of his cloak and spun around on the spot, feeling the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube.

He landed in the middle of a dark grove of trees, lit only by the silvery light of the waning moon. From his refuge, he could see the shadow of a building on the horizon. A narrow, cobbled road marked a pathway up to it, stretching back for miles in the other direction. The rest of the landscape was dotted with trees, but otherwise barren.

Harry turned again and suddenly he was standing just outside a wrought iron gate. The bars stretched up nearly twenty feet, ending in sharp spikes a foot tall. Beyond it lay another barren stretch of land, on which a monstrous, run-down building stood. It was five stories high, though the top two appeared to be partially collapsed. Only the ground floor had windows.

Harry waved his wand over the lock, and the gate sprang open. He continued up the path.

Two burly men in black cloaks stood guard over the house. As Harry approached, they pushed the doors open and jumped aside. Harry stopped however, his eyes slowly traveling up to a worn sign over the door, which read:

St. Dymphna's Institution

for the Criminally Insane

"My Lord?" one of the guards said tentatively

Harry turned his eyes away from the sign and stepped forward. The inside of the building looked just as bad as the outside. Filth and debris littered the floor and covered a large, circular desk that stood on the other side of the spacious Entrance Hall. A staircase on the left led up to the next floor. Rookwood appeared out of the shadows on Harry's right and bowed deeply.

"They're upstairs, my Lord," he said.

"What is the damage?"

"He sustained some injuries, but nothing that could not be healed. The girl had a couple of injuries already, but nothing caused by us."

"Were there enough cells?"

"Most of the ceiling's caved in. I knew you'd want to keep the other two apart, so we had to put them together to keep—"

Harry held up his hand. "Enough. Who's watching them now?"

"Lestrange."

"Very good. You've done well, Rookwood. Assemble your team and wait for my orders."

"Yes, my Lord," Rookwood bowed again and hurried for the door.

Harry turned his attention to the stairs and ascended to the first floor. It consisted of a long hallway, lit by torches on the wall and lined with about a dozen small cells on each side. Each contained only a narrow bed made of stone and a low toilet in the corner. As Rookwood had said, the ceiling had caved in on most of the cells, and the doors of a few were missing. The only sound he heard was a soft mumbling.

Bellatrix stood at the end of the hallway at the base of a crumbling staircase. She smiled and bowed. "My Lord."

Harry started slowly toward her, examining each cell as he passed.. The first intact one, about midway down the left side of the hall, was occupied by Narcissa Malfoy, who sat hunched over on her bed. She glanced up when Harry walked past, and then quickly cast her gaze downward again.

Theodore Nott was in the next one, just three from the end on the left. He sat on his bed as well, rocking back and forth with his hands over his eyes and his lips moving. Now that Harry was close, he could hear the frantic whisper. "The light's gone all out." Nott laughed to himself. "The light's gone all out. The light's..."

Harry turned his attention to the other side, where the last two cells stood intact. The first was empty, and he quickly glanced away from it to look at the one on the very end. Two people were inside. The man was just a dark shape on the bed, facing the wall with a ragged blanket covering him. The other was a young woman with bushy brown hair and bandages around her neck and right hand. She knelt beside the man, holding up the blanket with one hand, as though examining the back of his head.

"Miss Granger, I presume?" Harry said.

Hermione jumped up, dropping the blanket over the man's head. The moment she caught sight of Harry, she rushed toward the bars. "Harry!" she cried in a wavering voice. "If you're in there, please, you have to..." Harry flicked his wand, and her lips melded together, turning the rest of her words into a strangled scream.

"Clever girl," he said. He gave his wand another wave, and her legs collapsed out from under her. "Very clever." He turned to Bellatrix. "Do as you will, but keep them both alive. They may have information of value.

Bellatrix's smile widened, and she bowed again. "Yes, my Lord."

As Harry turned to walk back the other way, the hall around him dissolved, and he found himself back in the kitchen, lying sideways on the floor. He sprang to his feet at once, ignoring the throbbing pain in his scar, and rushed up the stairs. He made it to the third floor and nearly burst into Lupin's room before remembering that Ron had been moved. So, he turned and ran a little further down the hall, throwing the door open.

Ron was already awake, sitting up in his bed. "W—?"

"Have you heard of St. Dymphna's Institution?" Harry spoke in a flurry, breathing heavily.

"What?"

"St. Dymphna's, have you heard of it?"

"Yeah, it's—"

"Do you know where it is?"

"No but—where are you going?"

Harry did not reply as he dashed out of the room. He wrenched the library door open and slipped inside without even thinking to use a Bubble-Head Charm. There was no time.

By the time Ron arrived, Harry was already scanning the index of his third book. "Harry, what—?"

"Shh." Harry flipped to the middle of the book and turned a couple of pages. There in bold letters were the words he had been searching for. He scanned the entry on St. Dymphna's Institution, skipping over the detailed description of its history. Then, he saw it:

_St. Dymphna's Lane, just off of Knockturn Alley, leads directly to the ruins of the institution of the same name thirty-six kilometers away._

Harry stared at the words for a moment, hardly daring to breathe. "I found her," he said. He looked up at Ron, just then fully realizing that he was there. "I know where she is."

Realization dawned on Ron's face, and his eyes widened. "Did you see her? Is she all right?"

Harry nodded, handing the book to Ron. "They've got her locked up there." He started for the door.

Ron barely glanced at the page and hurried to block Harry's path. "Whoa! Where are you going?"

"Where do you think I'm going?"

"We have to tell the Order."

"How? Kingsley's gone."

"McGonagall then."

"You heard your mum. She can't afford to send out more people."

"But what if You-Know-Who—"

"I don't care!" Harry's hands curled into fists, anger flooding his veins. Just as quickly, the feeling was gone, and his shoulders slumped. "It's _Hermione_."

Ron looked as though he wanted to object again, but he hesitated. Then, he held the book back out to Harry. "I'm going with you."

"What? You can't even walk."

"I can so!"

"But—"

"It's_ Hermione_."

Harry stared for another moment. Finally, he accepted the book, tucking it under his arm, and nodded. "We'll need to get the Invisibility Cloak from the Burrow."

"Let's go then."

Even with Ron moving as fast as he could, it took nearly half an hour to get to the kitchen. Harry tried not to let his impatience show, especially when Ron attempted to negotiate his way down the stairs. He knew better than to offer help. Ron might be able to put aside their issues to save Hermione, but Harry was not willing to push his luck.

When they finally reached the kitchen, Harry moved over to the fireplace. "We need to get in and out fast. You stay downstairs and keep a look out. I'll get the cloak." Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and tossed it into the fire. "The Burrow!"

Moments later, he stepped out into the sitting room of the Burrow. He gripped his wand tightly and glanced around, but the room was empty. So, he started for the stairs, turning back once to make sure Ron had made it through all right.

The cloak was stuffed in the corner of his wardrobe, exactly where he had left it. Harry had just retrieved it and started to straighten up when he heard a yell and a loud thump from downstairs. His hands wavered, and the book slipped from his fingers. Harry paid it no attention, however, tightening his grip on the cloak and hurrying out of the room.

Ron was backed up to the base of the stairs, wand clasped in his shaking left hand. Aberforth Dumbledore was on his knees midway across the room, struggling to stand up, fumbling for his wand. His legs appeared to be stuck together from the knees down.

Ron glanced. "What should—?"

Harry made a split second decision. He threw himself down the stairs, seized the back of Ron's robes, and spun around, focusing on the first location that popped into his head.

Harry's chest constricted until he could hardly breathe, his limbs so stretched he thought he might splinch himself. He could feel Ron pulling away from him and squeezed his fist as tight as he could. As the pressure began to eased, his feet hit the ground at an angle, and he fell backwards onto hard pavement. Ron landed on top of him, squeezing out what little air was left in his lungs.

Luckily, Ron rolled off almost at once, taking deep gulps of air. "W...where...?"

Harry leapt to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his chest, and took a quick survey of the street they had landed on. Thankfully, it was empty.

"Where...are we?" Ron finally managed to get out, struggling to sit up.

"Privet Drive," Harry said, glancing down the street at his aunt and uncle's house. He was a bit surprised that his mind had leapt immediately to this place. In retrospect though, it did seem the best choice. After all, they were very unlikely to be spotted by any Death Eaters here.

"Bloody useless."

"What?" Harry turned to see Ron on his feet now, glowering at his wand. "You managed to slow him up, didn't you?"

"I was going for a Full Body-Bind." Ron adjusted the sling around his neck, muttering unintelligibly under his breath.

Harry felt a fresh wave of guilt and looked away. "We have to get moving."

"How are we even going to get there?" Ron asked. "We can't exactly walk."

"We'll Apparate."

"How? You can't Apparate to a place you've never been to."

"I_ have_ been there."

"No, you haven't."

"Yes, I have. Close enough, anyway. Do you have a better idea?" He took Ron's silence as a no and unfurled the cloak. "We'd better put this on now in case someone's standing guard."

Ron hesitated. He seemed embarrassed at himself, not quite meeting Harry's eye.

Harry gritted his teeth, guilt supplanted by annoyance. "Ron, we don't have time for this. Either get under the cloak or go back."

Ron gave a start, glancing up. Then, he wordlessly stepped forward. Harry draped the cloak over them.

"Are you sure about this?" Ron asked.

"No." Harry closed his eyes, picturing the grove of trees and the cobbled street in his mind. "St. Dymphna's Lane," he muttered to himself. "Just off of Knockturn Alley." He grabbed Ron's arm and spun.

Harry managed to land on his feet. Ron started to topple over, but Harry tightened his grip to steady him. He glanced around, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the trees looming around them and the building in the distance.

"I can Apparate us to the gate from here," Harry said. "You ready?"

"No," Ron said.

Harry turned on the spot again. This time, Ron kept his footing, though he looked like he was about to vomit.

"Is..." Ron swallowed and started again. "Is this it?"

"Yeah." Harry gazed up at the iron gate. He looked around to make sure there was no one watching and reached out a tentative hand. To his surprise, the gate was unlocked, and a light push sent it creaking open. He exchanged a glance with Ron, and they started forward, crouching down to make sure the cloak covered their feet.

They reached the building without seeing a single person. The front door swung forward just as easily, opening into the empty Entrance Hall.

"I don't like this," Ron said in a low voice as they stepped inside. "It's too easy."

Harry heartily agreed, but kept his face a careful mask. "They're being kept upstairs," he whispered. "You stay here. Keep the cloak on." He ducked out from under the cloak before Ron could object and started up the stairs, his wand clutched tightly in his hand. A thick layer of dust muffled his footsteps.

He stopped about midway up the staircase, gazing down the first floor hall. It was also empty. He ascended the last few stairs, his unease increasing with every step.

The moment his foot hit the landing, it caught on something and he pitched forward, slamming into the ground. Before he could even react, he felt his wand slip out of his grasp. He glanced to one side and caught only a glimpse of the black-robed figure standing in an open cell before a flash of red light blinded him, and he fell into darkness.

Harry wondered for a moment if he was dead. Then, he realized that his muscles could not possible hurt this much if he was. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, replaying what had happened. How could he have been so stupid? Of course it was a trap. Why else would Voldemort have let him see this place?

A low chuckle met Harry's ears. He opened his eyes and discovered that one side of his glasses was broken, frames bent and lens shattered. He glanced around, squinting in the low, wavering light. Stone walls surrounded him on three sides, with iron bars on the fourth. He was lying on a slab jutting out from one wall, and there was a toilet in the corner.

Harry searched out the source of the laughing and saw Theodore Nott crouched in front of the bars of the cell diagonal from his, staring with wide, unfocused eyes. "It's over," Nott said in a slightly slurred voice. "It's all over." He cackled again as though he had just told the funniest joke.

Harry heard a shuffling sound through the wall on the right side of his cell. "Hello?" a strained voice called softly. "Is someone there?"

Harry forgot about Nott at once, scrambling over to the wall. "Hermione, is that you?"

"Harry?" A choked sob echoed through the room. "I'm so sorry."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, but...there's someone else in here with me. He's really hurt."

"What about Ron?"

"Ron?" He heard her moving around again. "Ron came with you?"

"Yeah." Harry crawled up to the bars, peering up and down the empty hallway. "He's not here?"

"N...no." Her voice wavered.

"He has the cloak." He tried to sound reassuring, but failed. "I promise, we'll figure out a way out of here."

Across the hall, Nott erupted into another fit of laughter. "Rats in a cage," he said with a maniacal grin.

"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked.

"He's been like this since I got here," Hermione replied. "I think they did something to his mind."

Nott's feet slid out from under him, and he sat down hard, still laughing. "They think they can get out."

"Just ignore him," Hermione said. "How did you find me?"

Harry told her about his dream and the trip to the Burrow.

"Aberforth saw you?" she interrupted at one point. When Harry confirmed it, she went quiet again until he had finished. "So..." she said, "...nobody knows we're here?"

"Just Ron."

A long silence stretched between them, in which the only sound was the occasional laugh from Nott. Harry's mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but he drew a blank. He hoped that Ron had managed to get away, but he knew the chances were minimal. Even if he did make it out of the building, he would be miles away from help and almost completely defenseless.

Harry heard a voice from down the hall and scrambled toward the bars again, straining his ears.

"...too long," a man said. "He doesn't want anyone talking to them."

Harry heard footsteps and a metallic scraping, followed by another whisper. "My son? Is he okay?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy," a woman's voice replied. "I don't know."

The footsteps resumed and Pansy Parkinson appeared, carrying a tray with three metal plates. She turned to Nott's cell first, crouching down. "Theodore?" she said softly, setting down one of the plates and sliding it under the bars. "I brought you some food."

Nott just stared at her, his mouth hanging open slightly.

She moved on to Harry next, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the floor as she pushed the plate toward him, careful not to get her fingers too close to the bars. Her face was thin and gaunt, dark circles under her eyes, and her robes hung loosely from her frame.

"Pansy." Hermione spoke in a low voice, causing Pansy's head to jerk in her direction. "What's happening out there?"

Pansy wavered, but did not speak. She stood and moved to crouch in front of Hermione's cell.

"Please—" Hermione started.

"_Parkinson!_" a voice yelled.

"Shut up!" Pansy hissed at Hermione. There was a loud scraping noise and she straightened up, hurrying back down the hall.

Harry listened to her fading footsteps, then turned his attention to the plate. It was filled with a pale yellow mush with the consistency of oatmeal. He sniffed it suspiciously. A smell like vomit met his nostrils, and bile rose in his throat.

A whimper across the hall made him look up. Nott was rocking slowly back and forth, scratching at his arms as he stared at the plate.

Harry had just opened his mouth to ask Hermione what the food was when he heard a slight rustling that sounded like parchment coming from her cell. "What—?"

"Pansy and I have a little agreement," she said. "A trade of information."

"What information?"

"I let slip that I've seen Malfoy since his disappearance."

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. "You...what?"

"Shh," Hermione hissed. "I didn't given her any details. I just..." She trailed off.

"What?"

"There's a crack in the wall," she said shakily, "just a little ways back from the bars. Can you see it?"

Harry glanced down and saw a hole about the width of his index and middle finger combined. "Yeah."

Another rustling sound, and a tiny scroll of parchment poked out from the crevice. Harry pulled it out and unrolled it, squinting through the good side of his glasses.

_The Dark Lord's coming for him tonight._

Harry blinked, a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Do you know what time it is?" he asked. His voice sounded distant and strange to his ears.

"No." Hermione paused. "What time was it when you got here?"

Harry thought for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe...two o'clock in the morning. Why?"

"I remember hearing a noise down the hall. A thud."

"That was me falling over."

Another pause. "I think they've been bringing meals three times a day. This is the fifth since then, so...it's about midday."

"I've been out for a day and a half?"

"At least."

Harry turned his over in his mind. He would have thought Voldemort would come right away after hearing that he had been captured. Why had he waited until now?

"What are we going to do?" Hermione asked.

"I don't..." Harry heard the sound of footsteps again. He quickly tucked the parchment into his pocket and moved toward the bars, glancing down the hallway. It was empty. "Did you—?"

"Harry?"

The voice was so soft Harry barely even heard it, but he leapt away from the bars nevertheless. Then, his mind put two and two together. "Ron?"

There was a shuffling noise from Hermione's cell. "_Ron?_"

"Shh," Ron's disembodied voice spoke again. "Not so loud. They're still downstairs." He paused. "Who—?"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione interrupted him.

Harry had no idea what they were talking about, but he had other worries. "Have you been here this whole time?" he asked.

"Yeah," Ron said. "I would've come up sooner, but they keep guards on the stairs."

Nott gave a sudden, sharp laugh. "The air whispers," he said, staring at the spot from which Ron's voice emanated.

"What—?" Ron started.

"You should get out of here," Harry said. "Apparate back to Grimmauld Place."

"I already tried. There's wards around the place and guards at the front gate."

"Can't you just curse them?" Hermione asked.

"Honestly, I doubt it."

They spent a while talking in whispers about what they should do, but no ideas came of it. Ron almost tried _Alohomora_ on the locks, but Hermione stopped him. "They probably have wards to detect magic," she said.

They were just starting to debate whether Ron should go look for a fireplace to Floo from when Ron stopped abruptly in the middle of a sentence. A moment later, Harry heard the metallic scraping of a plate sliding across the floor. He tried to keep his face neutral as Pansy made her way to his and Hermione's cells. She did not speak this time or even look at them, however. She just slid the plates under the bars and then hurried off, as though anxious to get away as quickly as possible.

"Ron?" Harry muttered once she was gone. "You still there?"

"Yeah," Ron's voice said.

"We're running out of time," Hermione said. "He could be here any minute."

"I kn—"

Muffled shouts rang out from downstairs, followed by several loud bangs and a scream. The sounds continued for about five minutes. Then, there was one final thud and all went silent.

"Someone's..." Ron trailed off, and Harry heard the footsteps approaching.

Before Harry could think of what to do, he heard a grunt and another loud thud. He rushed up to the bars and saw a very odd sight. Aberforth Dumbledore lay sprawled on the floor about midway down the hall. Starting at his feet, Harry could see the lower half of Ron's body poking out from under the Invisibility Cloak, as though he had dived at Aberforth to tackle him to the ground.

"Ron!" Hermione yelled. "Ron, it's okay! Let him up!"

After a moment or two, Ron rolled away from Aberforth, fighting to disentangle himself from the cloak. Aberforth struggled to his feet, muttering under his breath.

"What—?" Harry said.

"No time," Aberforth said, flicking his wand at Harry's cell, which sprang open. He did the same to Hermione's, moving forward with a slight limp.

Harry stepped out and turned his attention on Ron, who had finally managed to get the cloak off and was attempting to fix his shoulder sling. "Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride," Ron muttered. He braced one hand against the wall and stood, wincing. "And everything else, too."

Harry started back toward Hermione's cell. "I tried not to move him," she was saying in a low voice.

"I should be able to heal this," Aberforth said, "but we need to get him out of here."

The cell came into view and Harry froze in his tracks, his blood turning to ice. Hermione stood off to one side, hand covering her mouth. Her bandages were filthy, and her clothes were torn and stained with blood, though she herself appeared to be uninjured. Aberforth was bent low over the stone bed. Lying unconscious before him, his robes torn and bloody, was Severus Snape.

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: despair and rage all around. Harry discovers what became of Malfoy while he was away, tensions among the trio come to a head, and questions are finally answered. This one might take a while to post. It looks like it's going to be long. (It's already over 6,000 words and doesn't seem to be winding down yet.)


	25. Chapter 25: Understanding

Author's Note: Many thanks to all reviewers. No questions to answer this time, just a few notes. This one was a bit dicey to write, since I needed to include so much information. In the process of working out this and the next chapter, I've realized that my timeline doesn't quite line up with that of the HP Lexicon. This is partially a misread on my part. So, just know that, in the timeline of this story, the attack on the Astronomy Tower occurred a little less than a month before the Lexicon says it did. My reason for telling you this will become clear in chapter 26. Also, while I did use the Lexicon timeline as a major resource in writing this chapter, I did not use it as the final authority. As a disclaimer: I had the basic idea for this in my head before Deathly Hallows came out. I tried not to let events of DH alter the course in any way. Therefore, any similarities are purely coincidental. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 25: Understanding

Hermione moved to stand in front of Harry, blocking Snape's face from view. "Harry—?"

"Explain later," Aberforth said, straightening up. He pulled Harry and Hermione's wands from his pocket and tossed them to their respective owners. "I'll take the lead with Mr. Weasley. One of you, levitate him out of here. The other, take up the flank in case someone attacks." He limped out of the cell.

Hermione gazed at Harry for a moment before waving her wand to repair his glasses. Then, she reached out a tentative hand to touch his arm. "Please," she said, "we have to get him out of here."

Harry stared at her, his mind refusing to comprehend her words at first. Finally, he nodded once. "You levitate," he said shortly.

Hermione's expression relaxed, and she turned her attention back to Snape. She waved her wand over him so that he rose a few inches off the slab and carefully directed him out of the cell. Harry just watched, a bit surprised by his own lack of reaction. Rather than the explosive rage that he had felt numerous times before, what he felt when he looked at Snape was more subtle, a quiet contempt gnawing away at his insides.

As the four of them moved passed Nott's cage, he lunged forward suddenly. Hermione leapt back, and Snape's body wavered, threatening to fall. "You can't protect him forever, Granger!" Nott hissed. Though his face was pressed against the bars, his eyes rolling madly, he looked more lucid than before.

Hermione paid him no further attention, though she did increase her pace a bit. Unable to do anything else, Harry followed after her.

About midway down the hall, a hand reached out, catching Harry's arm. Narcissa stared out at him from an almost skeletal face. "My son," she said weakly, "is he okay?"

"Harry!" Hermione called from the landing, where she stood with Ron, Snape hovering beside her. Aberforth had already gone downstairs. "Come on!"

But Harry was glued to the spot, staring into Narcissa's eyes, which were as mad as Nott's and filled with despair. It occurred to him that, if Hermione was right, he had been away from Grimmauld Place for almost two days. If someone had gone into his room looking for him...

Harry pulled himself away from these thoughts. If Malfoy was caught, there was not a thing he could do about it right now. Still, he found himself unable to move as Narcissa continued to gaze at him with desperation. Through his contempt for Snape, he began to feel a twinge of pity, so faint it barely registered.

But it was enough. Harry nodded, patting her hand.

Cold, bony fingers closed over his like a vice grip, and her lips parted into something resembling a smile. "Thank you," she said in a wavering voice. Then, she released him.

Harry hurried to catch up to the others, trying to ignore the odd look that Ron was giving him. Hermione did not seem to notice, her attention firmly focused on Snape.

When they got downstairs, Aberforth led them past half a dozen unconscious Death Eaters. Harry spotted Pansy lying by the circular desk across the room, a cut on her head trickling blood, and hesitated. "She'll live," Aberforth said roughly. "Move."

Harry tore his eyes away and followed. Aberforth led them outside and to the gate, where another two guards lay on the ground. Once they were on the other side, he stopped for a moment, glancing around. He stuck a finger in his mouth briefly and held it up in the air, as though checking the wind direction. "We're outside the wards," he said. "I'll take him from here, Miss Granger. You three get back to Grimmauld Place. I'll contact you again in two nights." He grabbed Snape by the arm and Disapparated.

"What—?" Ron started.

"Half the Order's probably out looking for us," Hermione interrupted. "We need to get back to Grimmauld Place." She glanced at Harry. "I know it's a lot to ask, but please don't say anything. We have to tell them we escaped on our own."

Harry stared at her for a moment. "There had better be a _damn_ good excuse for this," he said.

"There is, Harry, I promise, and I'll tell you as soon as I can, but we need to move _now_." She seemed to take his silence as confirmation, grabbed them each by the arm, and spun.

Harry felt the familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube as the landscape disappeared, replaced by the sitting room of the Burrow.

"They probably still have those traps in the Entrance Hall," Hermione explained. "We'll have to use Floo." She grabbed a handful of powder and threw it into the flames, stepping in before either of them could speak. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

Harry and Ron both hesitated. "Are we really not going to tell them?" Ron asked.

Harry did not reply. Finally, he stepped forward and threw in his powder as well. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

To his surprise, he stepped out into the kitchen to see Hermione wrapped in a tight hug by Mrs. Weasley. When Mrs. Weasley spotted Harry, she hurried over, hugging him as well. When Ron stumbled out a moment later, she moved on to him. "Oh, thank heavens, you're all right," she whispered.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said. "We—"

"Not now," Mrs. Weasley said, stepping back to survey Hermione and Ron. "You two are quite a sight. I'm taking you to Aura right away to change those bandages. Then it's off to bed for all of you. You can explain in the morning."

Harry was extremely grateful for this. With all of the commotion, he had not realized just how tired he was. When he followed the others upstairs, Mrs. Weasley sent him off to his room at once. "I want you downstairs bright and early for breakfast," she said.

Harry put up no objections, pushing the door to his room open. The moment his eyes fell on the maze still in the corner, he forgot his exhaustion. He glanced around the empty room, a cold chill spreading through his veins.

Then, as he stepped forward to check the bathroom, he saw it. His things had all been unpacked from his trunk, strewn haphazardly on the floor on the other side of the bed. He stared at them for a moment before realization dawned on him. He strode over to the trunk and threw it open.

The first thing that hit Harry was a foul stench so strong he recoiled, covering his face. Malfoy lay sideways in the otherwise empty trunk, his legs pulled up to his chest. His arms were folded in what looked like a painful position, one hand clutched tightly around his wand. His clothes were soiled, and the bandages covering the spot where his Dark Mark once was had come loose, though a quick check showed that the stasis spell was still holding. His face was white as a sheet, his lips dried and cracked. When the lid opened, he did not even react, staring straight ahead.

Harry grabbed Malfoy's arm and helped him up. Or, rather, pulled him up, as Malfoy's legs did not seem to want to move properly. After several moments and near falls, Harry managed to get him out of the trunk, at which point he sat down heavily on the floor, shaking.

Harry glanced away, picking up a glass from his bedside table and walking over to the bathroom. He filled the glass about halfway with water and downed it in a few gulps to quell his thirst. Then, he rinsed and filled it again, carrying it back out to Malfoy.

Malfoy took the glass and, after a moment, raised it to his lips. He cleared his throat, took another sip, and finally spoke. "How long?"

"Two days," Harry said. He pulled out the chair from his desk and sat down. "What happened?"

"You didn't come back," Malfoy said in a quiet voice, staring down into the surface of the water.

"Hermione was kidnapped. I had to go."

"Someone knocked that morning looking for you. I panicked. I had to find somewhere where they wouldn't look."

"Have you been in there this whole time?"

Malfoy nodded.

Harry opened his mouth. Then, he closed it. Several emotions passed through him at once, most indiscernible. Pity was fleeting, lasting only as long as it took for him to remember what Malfoy had done to him, and he began to think that Malfoy had gotten what he deserved. The sense of justice was empty, however, and left just as quickly.

Malfoy looked up. "Granger got captured?"

Harry glanced the other way to hide the fact that he had been staring. "Yeah, but..." He had only a split second warning, a sinking in the pit of his stomach, before pain exploded in his scar and he clutched his head, squeezing his eyes shut. His veins were both burning and freezing at once. Through the roaring in his mind, he heard yelling and, faintly, screaming.

Then, it ended. Harry did not remember falling, but he found himself on the floor. His head was still pounding and the cold chill lingered throughout his body. He slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position and pressed a hand to his scar, which was still throbbing. Malfoy had not moved, but every muscle in his body was tense, his hands clutched tightly around the glass and his eyes filled with apprehension.

Before Harry could think of what to say, he heard a soft knock at the door. Glad for the excuse, he looked away and struggled to his feet.

Hermione stood on the other side of the door, her hand poised in the air as though about to knock again. Her skin was still smudged with dirt and she looked exhausted, but her bandages had been changed. "Sorry if—are you all right?" she asked.

"He's..." Harry said in a strained voice, his jaw clenching involuntarily. "He's really angry." He drew in a sharp breath.

She hesitated, glancing at Malfoy. "Is he—?"

"He's fine," Harry snapped. "What do you want?"

She flinched and lowered her voice. "I told you I'd explain. But not here."

Harry narrowed his eyes but stepped out into the hall without complaint, shutting the door.

Hermione gave a small, forced smile. "Ron's waiting for us. Come on."

When they reached the room, Ron was sitting up. His bandages had also been replaced, but he looked in much the same condition as Hermione. His eyes flitted nervously to Harry, but he did not say anything.

"Y...you might want to sit down for this," Hermione said, her voice shaking slightly.

Harry did not move. He could still feel the rage pulsing through his veins, irritation enhanced by the continued twitching of his scar.

She seemed to notice his mood and turned away, slowly walking across the room, wringing her hands. She took a deep breath. "Before I was taken, I'd been in contact with Snape and Aberforth for about two weeks."

Harry gaped at her as he struggled to comprehend.

Ron seemed just as stunned. "W...What? Why...?"

But Hermione was watching Harry again, her arms folded tightly over her chest. "I know you don't want to hear this," she said, "but they're on our side."

Harry felt a new rush of anger that was entirely his own. "How can you say that?" he said in a low voice. "You know what he did."

"I know." She stepped back toward Harry, sounding close to tears. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. Harry, everything he did was on Dumbledore's orders."

Harry barely managed to stop himself, his fist freezing in mid-swing. Hermione had thrown her arms up over her head when he started for her, and Ron was on his feet, his full attention focused on Harry.

Nobody moved for several moments. Harry's teeth clenched painfully, every ounce of his self control thrown into keeping his fist immobile. Then, finally, he lowered it.

Hermione dropped her arms as well, though she remained on alert. "I have something to show you. I'm not asking for much. Just, please, wait here for ten minutes." She turned away without waiting for a reply and walked out the door.

Tense silence filled the room long after she had gone. Harry glared at the spot where she had disappeared. Nothing she said could make any difference. Snape was a murderer, and Aberforth was just as bad for helping him.

Still, the thought of leaving did not even cross his mind.

"You..." Ron said. Harry turned to see Ron's expression mirroring his, fists clenched at his sides.

"You heard what she said," Harry said.

"I don't care." Ron pointed a finger at him. "I don't know what's going on with you, but if you ever lay a hand on her..." He trailed off.

Harry just stared back indifferently. He had no anger to spare for Ron. After a few moments, Ron sat back down, but his hard gaze did not waver.

They still had not moved by the time Hermione returned. She was clutching the shrunken cabinet containing the Pensieve to her chest.

Ron finally looked away from Harry. "W...did you just go to the Burrow?"

"Just long enough to grab this," Hermione said.

"But you could've been attacked!"

"It's worth the risk." She held the cabinet out to Harry. "Take this to my room. No one should disturb you there, but lock the door just in case. In Snape's box, there's a set of blue vials. Watch them."

"Why—?" Ron started.

"I'll give you the short version," Hermione interrupted. "Harry needs to watch these alone." She turned back to Harry. "I'm not asking you to believe me. Please, just watch them."

Harry stared for another moment. Then, he reached out to take the cabinet.

-

"Severus Caleb Snape."

The box appeared on the shelf. Harry retrieved it, prying the lid open. His vision blurred and he glanced away, waiting for his eyes to unfocus. The expanded interior of the box appeared, stretching to accommodate about fifty vials. Just as Hermione had said, there was a collection of blue vials in one corner.

Harry reached in and slowly began to pull them out, examining the dates. One was dated as far back as August of 1980, and the most recent was in late February of the current year. Harry picked up the former and pried the cork out, dumping the memory into the Pensieve and prodding it with his wand.

The silvery strands swirled around for a few moments until finally clearing to reveal the familiar bird's-eye view of Dumbledore's office. Harry took a deep breath and plunged his face into the Pensieve, feeling himself pitch forward.

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, just as he had been in the other memories Harry saw recently. This time, however, he had his wand in hand and was watching the door with rapt attention.

There was no knock. The door creaked open, and Snape walked in. He looked much younger, but the lank, greasy hair and sallow skin were unmistakable. He strode over to the chair in front of the desk and sat down without waiting for an invitation.

"I've already filled the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Severus," Dumbledore said.

"That's not why I'm here," Snape said in a voice so low Harry barely caught it.

Dumbledore nodded, raising his wand. Snape's eyes narrowed, but Dumbledore only pointed it at the door, sending a small burst of light at it. "I thought not," he said. "What is this about?"

"I heard a rumor that the Potters had a child."

"I am not at liberty to discuss the private matters of others."

"I came to you because I have reason to believe that they may be in danger."

"And I suppose you are doing so purely out of the goodness of your heart." It was not a question, but there was a palpable note of disbelief in Dumbledore's voice.

"I'm proposing a trade. I'll give you all the information I have. In exchange, I want protection."

"From Voldemort?"

Snape tensed at the mention of the name. "And the Ministry."

"I see. I'm afraid I must respectively decline. Rest assured, if the Potters are in danger, they are more than well protected."

"He knows about the prophecy, Headmaster."

Dumbledore blinked once, and fixed Snape with a critical eye. They stared at each other for several moments, as though trying to read each others minds. "Professor Slughorn has expressed wishes to retire at the end of this school year," Dumbledore said finally. "If I recall correctly, you had quite an aptitude for Potions. If you will remain within the castle, I can offer you protection until then, and the job is yours."

Snape gazed back for a long time before answering. "I'll take the job, but I can't stay here."

"The deal is all or nothing," Dumbledore replied. His hands, folded on his desk, were shaking slightly. "If you won't agree to stay, then I'm afraid I can't help you."

Snape's face showed no reaction as he stood to leave. "Very well."

Dumbledore wavered. "Severus."

Snape paused with his hand on the doorknob and glanced back. "Yes, sir?"

"You may have the job, if you will submit to a questioning under Veritaserum once each month for one year." He opened his desk drawer, shifted the papers around, and drew out two thin, crystal rods the length of his forefinger. "Do you know what these are?"

Snape nodded.

Dumbledore set one on his desk and held the other out. "It's for emergencies only. Carry it wherever you go."

Snape stared. Then, he stepped forward and accepted the rod, slipping it into his pocket. "When do you want me back?"

"One month from today. Use the Floo Network, and tell no one where you're going."

Snape nodded again and left the room without another word.

Harry waited to see if there was more, but Dumbledore only tucked his wand away and pulled a scroll of parchment from his desk, studying it. So, Harry concentrated on the image of Hermione's room and leapt backwards, feeling himself soar into the air.

He landed in the middle of the floor with the intense feeling that he was wasting his time. If anything, that memory had only solidified his contempt for Snape. He had sided with Dumbledore purely to save his own skin.

Still, Harry moved on to the next vial. Unsurprisingly, it was dated exactly one month later.

This time, Dumbledore was pouring over half a dozen scrolls spread out on his desk, none of which appeared to be in English. The chair in front of his desk had disappeared, replaced by a narrow cot. Three potions sat out on his desk: one dark blue, one light blue, and one unmistakable clear potion.

The fireplace roared to life a few moments later, and Snape stepped through, dusting soot from his robes.

Dumbledore drew his wand and waved it once over the scrolls, which vanished "No trouble getting here, I gather?"

Snape did not answer, moving over to the desk to examine the potions. He picked up the dark one. "A sedative? I rather thought you'd go for a spell."

"I thought you'd be more comfortable with something familiar," Dumbledore replied. "Before we get started, your wand?

Snape narrowed his eyes, but drew his wand and set it on the desk.

Dumbledore nodded. "Now, I'll need to check you for spells." He shook his wand once, and it began to emit a steady, white light. He shone it in Snape's direction, traveling from his feet up to his head. He nodded and gave the wand another shake to put it out. "And potions."

Snape's eyes were slits as he pulled up the sleeve of his right arm and held it out. "I see trust is still a commodity here."

"Trust is earned, Severus." Dumbledore gripped Snape's wrist and tapped his forearm with the wand, causing a drop of blood to well up. He lit his wand again and shone it over the pinprick. "All clear."

"How very surprising," Snape said dryly.

Dumbledore tucked his wand away and stood up. He walked around his desk, picked up the dark potion, and handed it to Snape. "One dose should do it. This won't take long."

Snape sat on the cot and took a small sip of the potion, passing it back to Dumbledore. Then, he lay down, staring at the ceiling with a glazed look on his face, his lips parted slightly.

Dumbledore waved his hand in front of Snape's face once. He seemed satisfied when he got no reaction and picked up the Veritaserum. He gently lifted Snape's head a few inches off the cot and shook a few drops of potion into his mouth before returning the potion to the desk.

"What is your full name?" Dumbledore asked.

"Severus Caleb Snape," Snape replied in a slightly slurred voice.

"Your parents' names?"

"Tobias Daniel Snape and Eileen Devin Prince Snape."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Albus Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Dumbledore paused. "Are you a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"Do you bear the Dark Mark?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore nodded to himself as though he had expected this, waved his wand to conjure an armchair, and sat down. "How did you learn about the Potters' son?"

"I have connections in the records office at the Ministry."

"Did you discover any other children born around the same time?"

"Frank and Alice Longbottom had a son."

"Did you tell Voldemort about what you found?"

"No."

"What makes you believe that he may be going after the Potters?"

"The prophecy said that a child born at the end of the seventh month would have the power to destroy the Dark Lord."

"And how did he learn of the prophecy?"

"I told him."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. "When did you decide to come to me?"

"When I found out about the Potters' son."

"Why?"

"James Potter saved my life. I'm returning the favor."

Dumbledore suddenly seemed very interested. "Did you know that life debts aren't binding?"

"Yes."

"Yet you still want to repay James?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore looked as though he wanted to ask more questions, but he did not speak. Instead, he stood and retrieved the light blue potion, tipping a small amount into Snape's mouth.

Snape blinked and sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing. "Tell Slughorn he's losing his touch."

"I'll take that under consideration," Dumbledore said, moving back to his desk chair and pulling a scroll of parchment from his desk. "We're done here, Severus. I'll see you again in one month."

"I take it I told you what you wanted to hear, then?"

Dumbledore looked at Snape over his glasses. "Goodbye, Severus," he said firmly.

Harry waited until Snape had disappeared into the fireplace, and then drew himself out of the memory.

The third one took place in August of the next year. This time, when Snape arrived by Floo, he surveyed the empty desk and glanced at Dumbledore. "Run out of Veritaserum, did you?"

"I thought we would talk instead," Dumbledore said. He waved a hand at the chair that once again stood in front of his desk. When Snape had sat down, he continued. "The term starts in two weeks, Severus. Have you made arrangements?"

Snape nodded. "I'll be here by the end of the month."

"Good."

"I might have to leave sometimes, if he calls me away."

"As long as you can make arrangements for your classes, you may leave at any time. When you return, you will report to me."

"Yes, sir."

"You can dispense with the formalities, Severus." Dumbledore paused. "Remus tells me you paid him a visit a few weeks ago."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I couldn't find the Potters or Pettigrew, and I wasn't thrilled about having my throat ripped out by Black." Dumbledore continued to stare, so Snape spoke again. "I'm sure he already told you what we talked about."

"Yes, but I think it wise to be prudent."

"I asked him who the Potters' Secret Keeper is."

"And why did you do that?"

"I think the Dark Lord knows who it is. He may be planning something."

"I have no doubt that he is. I assure you, the Secret Keeper, whoever he or she may be, is well aware of that. From now on, I want you to come to me first before taking it upon yourself to question someone."

"But—"

"This isn't a discussion, Severus," Dumbledore said. "I need to know that if I tell you to do something, you'll do it."

Snape narrowed his eyes, meeting Dumbledore's gaze for several moments. Then, he nodded.

Dumbledore inclined his head as well. "I'll see you at the start of term."

Harry hesitated when he reached the fourth memory. It contained two other sets of initials, a quick check of the parchment scroll telling him that they belonged to Aberforth and Hagrid. It was dated October 31st, 1981. The day his parents died. Still, he knew he had to keep going. He had to know what had convinced Hermione.

This time, Harry found himself in the hallway just outside Dumbledore's office. He glanced at the windows and saw that it was already nighttime. Dumbledore had apparently just given the password to the gargoyle's statue, as it leapt aside, revealing the spiral staircase. Dumbledore stepped onto it, and, after he had been carried up a few steps, Harry followed suit.

As Dumbledore pushed open the door to the office, a low hum met Harry's ears. Dumbledore crossed to his desk in a matter of seconds, pulling open the top drawer. He sifted through the parchment until he found the thin, crystal rod, which glowed blue and buzzed in his hand. His fingers closed around it, and he held his fist to his forehead, his eyes fluttering shut. Then, he opened them and lowered his hand, gently snapping the rod in half. The humming stopped at once and the pieces shriveled into blackened sticks.

Dumbledore drew up the hood of his cloak and strode over to the fireplace, throwing in a handful of Floo Powder. "The Hog's Head!"

Harry felt a sickening jerk behind his navel, a swirl of fireplace flashing before his eyes. He landed in the middle of the Hog's Head just in time to see Dumbledore step out of the fireplace. The pub was empty, save for Aberforth, who stood at the counter wiping out a glass with what Harry strongly suspected was the same dirty cloth he would see him using fourteen years later.

"We're closed," Aberforth muttered without looking up.

"I'm not here for a drink," Dumbledore said. "I just need a place to Apparate from."

Aberforth froze, glancing at Dumbledore. Then, he shrugged and waved the cloth dismissively. "By all means."

Harry was prepared this time when he heard the loud crack and felt another forceful tug. This time, he found himself standing in a dark room, his eyes struggling to adjust. Only when Dumbledore rushed forward and crouched down did he see it. Snape lay sprawled on his stomach on the floor, breathing raggedly. A silver dagger jutted out of his back, buried nearly to the hilt.

Dumbledore grabbed the back of Snape's robes and Disapparated again, pulling Harry with them. They reappeared in the Hog's Head.

"Clear the bar," Dumbledore said. He waved his wand over Snape's body, lifting him up onto the bar just as Aberforth finished putting away the last glass. He pressed his fingers lightly against Snape's neck to check his pulse and touched the hilt of the dagger. "Cursed. Healing spells won't work on this. _Fawkes!_" He called the last word loudly.

Flames burst in midair a few feet away and Fawkes appeared, flapping his wings madly to stay aloft. Dumbledore put his forearm out, allowing the phoenix to close his talons around it, and whispered something to him. He carefully moved his arm so that Fawkes hovered over Snape's back.

Then, he looked up to Aberforth. "Pull out the knife."

Aberforth looked as though he wanted to do nothing of the sort, but he reached out to grip the hilt nevertheless. It seemed to take considerable force pull the dagger out, and a fresh gush of blood came with it. When it was finally out, Fawkes lowered his head, and a few tears spilled from his eyes. The wound shrunk down to nothing, leaving behind a bloody mess.

Dumbledore guided Fawkes to perch on the back of a chair and gently touched Snape's arm. "Severus?"

Snape groaned and began to stir, his eyes opening slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a weak cough.

"Shh, don't try to talk," Dumbledore said. "Can you sit up?"

It took nearly five minutes to get Snape sitting up on his own, his legs dangling over the side of the bar. Dumbledore conjured a clean glass and filled it with water, tilting it up to Snape's lips. Snape drank about half before pushing the glass away.

"The Potters," he rasped. "He's gone...after them."

Dumbledore turned back to Fawkes immediately, whispering to him again. The phoenix vanished at once in another swirl of flames.

"It's too late," Snape said. "They'll be dead by now." He clutched his chest, wincing.

Dumbledore's eyes flickered and he glanced at Aberforth. At that moment, Fawkes returned with a square mirror clutched gently in his beak.

Dumbledore took the mirror in both hands, staring at his reflection. "James?" he said. "Lily?"

Silence filled the room.

He drew his wand and tapped the glass. His reflection disappeared, replaced by a dozen images pieced together, most so dark Harry could not tell what they were. One looked as though it might be someone's arm. Distantly, he heard the sound of a baby crying.

Snape's head snapped up. "Is that...?"

"James?" Dumbledore said a little louder.

Only the cries answered.

A loud tapping noise made everyone look up. A tawny owl perched just outside the window, urgently rapping its beak against the glass. Aberforth crossed the room to let it in. The moment he untied the scroll of parchment from its leg, the owl took off again.

"It's for you," Aberforth said, holding the scroll out to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore unfurled it, and Harry moved closer so he could read the hurried scrawl.

_Albus,_

_The wards have dropped around the Potters' house. The Dark Mark's appeared. The house has collapsed. The Potters said if anything happened to contact you and Sirius. His owl is on its way now._

_Arabella Figg_

Dumbledore dropped the letter on the bar and went back to studying the mirror. The crying had quieted a bit now, but was still clearly audible.

Aberforth glanced over the parchment. "This must've been sent hours ago."

"That's not possible," Snape said. "He wouldn't leave the boy alive."

"No, he wouldn't," Dumbledore said in a quiet voice. "I need a quill." Once Aberforth had retrieved one for him, he flipped the parchment over and scribbled a quick note on it, which he then held out to Fawkes. "Take this to Hagrid."

"Hagrid?" Aberforth said once Fawkes had disappeared.

"I'm sending him to Godric's Hollow."

"But if the Dark Lord's still there—" Snape started.

"He isn't. The attack was hours ago."

"Then, Potter and his wife are..."

"Until Hagrid confirms it, we can only speculate, but yes, they likely are."

"But the boy's alive?"

"We'll know soon," Dumbledore said, "if Hagrid makes it there before Sirius."

Aberforth looked as though he was going to ask something, and then a look of realization dawned on his face. "You think Black was the one who betrayed them."

"He may well have been." Dumbledore set down the mirror and turned to Snape. "Now, what happened?"

Snape took a deep, shaky breath. "I received the summoning just before the Halloween feast. The Dark Lord was making plans for strategical strikes in several locations before leading an army against Hogwarts. He said that a threat would be eliminated tonight."

"And you deduced that he meant Harry?" When Snape nodded, Dumbledore spoke again. "Why didn't you contact me right away?"

"There was no time. He was already leaving. I tried to stop him, but someone stabbed me from behind."

"Who?

"I don't know. I didn't see them."

"Dumbledore!" a gruff voice sounded seemingly from nowhere. Dumbledore retrieved the mirror. The shattered image had been repaired, and Hagrid's face stared out from it.

"Did you find Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"I got him here," Hagrid replied. "He's got a nasty lookin' scar, but he's fine otherwise."

"What about James and Lily?"

Hagrid glanced to one side. "Jus' like yeh thought. I found her up here wi' Harry. James is downstairs."

"How much did you tell Minerva?"

"I jus' told her yeh'd be away fer the rest of the day and on Privet Drive tomorrow night."

Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, Hagrid. Remember, no magic. Use the Muggle underground if you have to."

Hagrid nodded and his face disappeared, replaced by Dumbledore's reflection.

Dumbledore set the mirror aside at once and turned to the other two. "I have arrangements to make. Severus, I want you to go back to the school. Don't tell anyone about this. The more we can minimize your involvement, the better. Aberforth, I know I can't stop the rumors. Just try to stay as close to the facts as possible."

Snape climbed down from the bar and made his way toward the fireplace as Dumbledore walked out the door. Harry wanted to follow after, but he noticed that the scene was starting to blur slightly, as though his glasses were fogging up. After a few moments, he could not see anymore, and he had no choice but to draw himself out of the Pensieve.

He stood for a long time, staring at the surface of the memories, trying to sort through his conflicting emotions. Had Snape really tried to stop Voldemort from attacking his parents? It seemed impossible. As his mind struggled to make sense of it all, Harry reached for the next vial.

This memory jumped forward to near the end of Harry's first year and took place within Dumbledore's office once more. Snape arrived through the door this time. "You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore looked up from his paperwork with a warm smile. "Yes, Severus, have a seat. I happened to glance at the points hourglasses this morning and noticed that Slytherin has quite a substantial lead. I imagine you're quite proud."

Snape stayed by the door. "You didn't call me here to congratulate me."

"You're quite right," Dumbledore said. "I'd forgotten that you don't like exchanging pleasantries. Perhaps I am starting to live up to my rumored senility."

"Should I come back later, when you've gotten to the point?"

Dumbledore's smile disappeared. "Why didn't you tell me about Quirrell?"

"If I recall correctly, I did. I believe your exact words were, 'Don't bother over it, Severus. Would you care for a brandy?'"

"You didn't tell me that you suspected he was working with Voldemort."

Snape bristled. "I didn't have proof."

"That shouldn't have mattered."

"I thought you already knew."

"I had my suspicions, but that's not the point. You should have come to me. Secrets are dangerous in times like these."

"Really, then? Tell me, how did Potter react when you told him about the prophecy?"

Dumbledore wavered. "That's a different situation. My secret is preserving Harry's innocence. Yours could have killed him and his friends."

"Or maybe you just think you're above it all." Snape turned and walked out of the office.

Dumbledore watched the door for a moment. Then, he picked up his quill. He wrote only a short line on the parchment, however, before he dropped it again. He sat staring down at his desk, looking deeply troubled.

Even as the fog started to settle in over the memory, that image of Dumbledore remained with Harry. When he was in his first year, he had seen Dumbledore as an almost omnipresent being. Though he knew now that Dumbledore was a man with flaws like any other, it still unsettled Harry to see him like that.

Harry was a bit surprised to find that the next memory leapt ahead in time as well, to December of his fifth year. It took place late at night. Dumbledore was in his chair, examining one of the silver instruments from his tables. Much as it had when Harry saw it, the instrument emitted a waft of green smoke, taking the form of a serpent, which split in two. Dumbledore watched pensively.

When Snape arrived, the snakes vanished at once. "This had better be important," he said. "Wormtail's starting to get suspicious."

"I'm afraid it is, Severus," Dumbledore replied. "How is your Legilimency?"

"That depends. What is it needed for?"

"I need you to teach Harry Occlumency."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Yes, and while I'm at it, I'll teach the Giant Squid how to Apparate."

"Harry is more than capable of learning."

"Occlumency would be advanced magic for a seventh year."

"I'm afraid there's no alternative. Voldemort has made the connection between them. It's only a matter of time before he tries to exploit it."

"Why aren't you teaching him?"

"I have my reasons. I will, of course, provide you with a Pensieve in which to store memories. In fact, there are a few which I will insist you extract."

"I see I have no choice in the matter."

Dumbledore looked at Snape over his glasses. "There's always a choice, Severus. Just be mindful of the consequences of your decision."

Snape stared back. "When?" he asked finally.

"You will go to Grimmauld Place near the end of the holidays to tell Harry about the lessons. You may set the times according to your schedule. Twice a week should be sufficient." He leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. "Remember, this is not an interrogation. Don't seek out or narrow in on specific memories. If you find any that shouldn't be there, call attention to them, but don't antagonize him more than necessary."

Snape waited for a few moments. "Anything else?"

"I don't imagine I need to tell you how important this is."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"And that if anything happens to Harry during these sessions—"

"—I'll be out on my arse."

"In a manner of speaking."

"Duly noted."

Dumbledore nodded. "You may go, then. Merry Christmas, Severus."

Snape's lips twitched, and he turned to leave. Dumbledore's eyes followed him out the door and seemed, for a brief moment, to flit to the corner where Harry stood. Then, he sighed and turned his attention back to the silver instrument just as the fog started to roll in.

When Harry pulled the next memory, taking place during the Easter holidays of his fifth year, and reentered the Pensieve, he was a bit disoriented upon finding himself outside. Glancing up and down the dark street lined with small brick houses, Harry spotted a figure cloaked in black, which he assumed was Dumbledore, moving swiftly down the street. Harry hurried to catch up, nearly tripping when Dumbledore stopped without warning in front of the house at the end of the street. Then, he stepped up to the door and knocked.

Several moments passed before the door finally opened, revealing Snape on the other side. Dumbledore stepped forward without invitation, and Harry slipped in after him. They entered a cramped sitting room, the walls of which were lined with bookshelves.

Snape shut the door at once, locking it. "Isn't this a bit risky? Half the Ministry's out looking for you."

"I imagine they're not the only ones." Dumbledore pulled down his hood and drew his wand. Though he did not point it at Snape, it was an understood threat. "Why did you stop Harry's Occlumency lessons?"

"You got the message then?" Snape said. Though his face was a careful mask, his eyes did flit to the wand briefly. "I knew Aberforth was holding out on me."

"Answer the question." Dumbledore's tone was unaccusing, but all kindness had gone from his eyes.

"I imagine your brother's already told you. Potter stuck his nose where it didn't belong."

"Curiosity is not a sin, Severus."

"I quite disagree."

"Is your reputation worth Harry's life?"

"Is yours?"

Dumbledore took a step backwards. "We've been over this. I'm keeping the prophecy from Harry to protect him."

Snape met his gaze. "You have a funny definition of 'protection.'"

"Yours is on shaky grounds. I can't get word to the Order without betraying my location to the Ministry, but rest assured, I will regain my position as headmaster sooner or later. When I do, consider your career at Hogwarts over." He lowered his voice. "And if you interfere in the Order's business again or harm Harry in any way, dismissing you is the least of what I will do." He drew his hood back up and pointed his wand at the door, which sprang open. "Good night, Severus."

When Harry drew out of the Pensieve this time, he glanced at the clock and sat in the desk chair, rubbing his eyes. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning, and he felt as though he was getting nowhere. Or, rather, he felt as though he was being jerked back and forth between believing that Hermione could be right and wanting to scream at her for being stupid.

More than anything else, he was agitated with Dumbledore. He had told Harry countless times that he trusted Snape. Thus far, the memories seemed to be proving quite the contrary. Also, if he had wanted for Harry to see these memories so much, why had he hidden them away in a cabinet with what probably amounted to thousands of others?

Harry sighed and picked up the next vial, dated in June of that same year. He recognized it as the day after Sirius died. If nothing else, he had to know why Dumbledore had not sacked Snape when he returned to Hogwarts.

This one returned him to the office. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, a calm expression illuminated by the morning light spilling through the window. Harry glanced around the room, feeling his face grow hot as his eyes fell on the tables that lay overturned, the silver instruments smashed and scattered throughout the room.

When Snape entered, he also surveyed the mess. "Redecorating?"

"I thought I'd wait to do the repairs," Dumbledore replied, "to insure that I learn from my mistakes. Have a seat."

Snape stayed where he was. "If you're going to dismiss me, do it. I have things I need to take care of."

Dumbledore stared at him for several moments. "I'm not going to dismiss you," he said.

Snape looked taken aback. "I thought—"

"You've kept information from me. You endangered everyone by stopping Harry's Occlumency lessons. You interfered in the Order's business, even after I told you the consequences..." Dumbledore paused briefly. "...and, in doing so, you saved the lives of six students."

"I don't understand."

"Even knowing that it couldn't help your situation, you told the Order where Harry had gone. A truly selfless act." Dumbledore smiled sadly. "You were right, Severus. I should have told Harry about the prophecy. True loyalty is shown through honesty, even in the face of persecution. If I can't forgive you your mistakes, how can I live with my own?" He sighed, shaking his head. "You may go."

Snape still did not move. "I've been called to a meeting after the term ends. I think he's inducting new Death Eaters."

Dumbledore nodded. "Go. The most important thing right now is to keep your cover."

Snape hesitated. "If I'm asked to do something—"

"I stand by what I said. I trust you to use your judgment to determine what is necessary."

Snape paused for a split second longer before finally turning to leave.

Harry left the memory and reached for the next without hesitation, his exhaustion forgotten. He knew he was reaching the final stretch now. These last four memories would have to convince him one way or the other. He found that the next one took place in early July and contained Hagrid and McGonagall's initials in addition to Snape's. He shook the memory into the Pensieve and plunged his face into it.

Harry had just enough time to register that he was outside the gates of Hogwarts when he heard a light snap and a brief, low humming noise behind him. He turned just in time to see the blackened sticks fall from Dumbledore's shaking fingers. He trudged up the path, his right arm clutched tightly to his chest. His hand was shriveling, blackened skin spreading from the spot where the cracked ring was still on his finger. As Harry watched, Dumbledore's legs gave out and he sank to his knees.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hagrid came running down the path from the Forbidden Forest, carrying his crossbow over one shoulder. He pushed the gate open and reached down to pull Dumbledore to his feet. "Wha' happened to yer hand?"

"Never mind that Hagrid," Dumbledore said, standing up straight. "I need to find Severus."

"I'll take yeh to Madame Pomfrey," Hagrid said. He rested one hand on Dumbledore's shoulder and started to lead him up the path with so much force he nearly knocked him over again.

"No, Hagrid," Dumbledore said firmly. "I—"

"Hagrid." Snape walked swiftly up the path leading from the school. "I'll take him from here."

Hagrid hesitated. "I can carry him to the hospital wing..."

"That's quite all right, Hagrid," Dumbledore said, stepping out of Hagrid's grasp, his weakness vanishing in spite of his withering hand. "I imagine you have hippogriffs that need looking after."

Hagrid still looked uneasy, but he turned and started toward his hut.

Once he was out of earshot, Snape rushed forward to support Dumbledore, who looked once more on the verge of collapse. "You've been gone for two days," he said. "You're lucky he didn't call me away."

Dumbledore pulled back the sleeve of his injured arm. "If he had, I would've waited."

Snape drew his wand and waved it over the hand. Nothing happened. He tried several more times until the withering finally stopped. "The stasis won't hold for long. I'll need to brew the potion right away."

"You go ahead." Dumbledore took a few steps away, shaking his sleeve down to cover his hand. "I'll follow."

"But—"

"It'll look less suspicious. Go."

Snape moved swiftly back up the path. Dumbledore waited until he had disappeared from sight before beginning his trek toward the castle.

Dumbledore's progress was agonizingly slow, though he still masked his weakness, keeping his hand tucked out of sight. If Harry did not know any better, he would have just thought that Dumbledore was out for a stroll.

Upon entering the castle, they passed Professor McGonagall. "Welcome back, Albus," she said. "How was your trip to Bulgaria?"

"Trying, I'm afraid," Dumbledore replied. "Headmaster Daskal is not quite as forthcoming as Igor was. We'll talk more later over tea. I need to have a word with Severus." He continued across the hall and descended to the dungeons.

By the time they reached the office, Snape was already standing before a cauldron, stirring a deep blue potion inside. "How long?" Dumbledore asked.

"Just a moment for it to thicken," Snape said. "You're lucky this potion doesn't need long to brew."

"Luck does seem to win out, doesn't it?" Dumbledore sat in the chair in front of the desk, cradling his injured hand.

"Is that it, then?" Snape asked, indicating the ring. "I imagined it would be a bit more extravagant."

"The worth lies in its history," Dumbledore replied. "Voldemort chose it for its meaning, not its price."

"Hmm." Snape dipped a ladle into the potion and let the thick liquid slowly drip back into the cauldron. "It's ready."

Dumbledore stood and moved over to the cauldron, reaching toward it with his good hand.

Snape grabbed his wrist to stop him. "The damage has spread too far to apply it directly. You'll need to submerge the hand."

Dumbledore drew up the sleeve of his afflicted hand to the elbow, maneuvered it over the cauldron, and nodded. Snape drew his wand and performed a complicated set of motions. Dumbledore tensed up, and Harry briefly saw the skin start to wither again before Dumbledore plunged the hand deep into the cauldron. His eyes squeezed shut and he sucked in a quick breath.

"I know, it's cold," Snape said. "Just a few more seconds. That should do it."

Dumbledore withdrew his arm, the potion clinging to the deadened skin. Snape waved his wand to clean it away, leaving behind the withered hand that had so shocked Harry the first time he saw it.

"You shouldn't have gone alone," Snape said, flicking his wand at the cauldron. The rest of the potion vanished.

"I didn't know what spells might have been cast," Dumbledore said, carefully prying the ring from his finger and sitting down. "I didn't want to endanger anyone."

"If you'd allowed me to go, I might've been able to stop the curse's spread sooner."

"A small price to pay."

"And just how much of a price will be paid before this is all over?"

Dumbledore paused, slowly flexing his charred fingers. He could not move them far. "Quite a high one, I am certain. Do you have any news for me?"

Snape did not speak for a moment. "Draco Malfoy has become a Death Eater."

Dumbledore looked up at once. "He's recruiting young again?"

"Hardly. He's made it quite clear that this is a punishment for Lucius. Word is that he's already given Draco an assignment."

"Do you know what it is?"

Snape shook his head. "No doubt something he can't handle."

"How did Narcissa react?"

"I don't know yet. But she confided in me when Lucius was captured. I have no doubt that she'll come to me about this as well. Should I try to find out?"

Dumbledore seemed to think it over. "Let her believe that you already know. Do whatever you can to gain her favor. If we're lucky, she'll let slip enough details for us to piece together." He stood. "I told Minerva I'd have tea with her. If anyone asks about my hand, tell them that I only had you heal it. I didn't tell you how it happened." When Snape nodded, he turned to leave, and the fog rolled in.

The next memory, dated only a week later, took Harry back to Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, writing left-handed on a small scroll of parchment, Slytherin's ring on his finger. The fireplace flared green and Snape stepped through.

Dumbledore barely glanced up. "I wasn't expecting you today, Severus. I'll be with you in a minute."

"Narcissa visited me," Snape said. "Bellatrix came with her."

Dumbledore lowered the quill at once. "What happened?"

"I tried to convince them that the Dark Lord had already entrusted me with the information. Naturally, Bellatrix tried to discredit me."

"Did you gain her favor?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Snape hesitated. "You said that you trusted my judgment?"

Dumbledore met his gaze for several moments. Then, he nodded. "I still do."

"I took an Unbreakable Vow."

"To do what?"

"To watch Draco, protect him, and carry out his assigned task if he should fail."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, staring down at the desk for a long time. "Did they give any clues as to what the task might be?"

"Not that I could discern."

Dumbledore paused. "Certainly it's difficult, or it would be done already. I would hazard a guess that it involves an infiltration of Hogwarts, given Narcissa's insistence that you should watch over him."

"Do you have any idea of what it could be?"

"I have no doubt that it's murder. Voldemort wouldn't go through such an elaborate set-up for anything less. And there are only two people here that would warrant it."

"You and Potter."

"Precisely." Dumbledore turned his attention back down to the parchment, but did not pick up his quill again. His eyes flicked briefly to the ring. "And it's not Harry."

"How can—?"

"I'm quite certain." Dumbledore stood, rolling up the parchment. "If you'll excuse me, I have an owl to send. I'm retrieving Harry from Privet Drive later this week, and I thought it best to inform him first."

"What do you want me to do?"

Another pause. "Do what you vowed to do. Watch and protect Mr. Malfoy. If, in the process, you discover any useful information, report back to me."

"What of the last part of the vow?"

"We'll discuss that later. If we're right to believe that his plan involves Hogwarts, I think we can safely assume that he won't make any attempts until the term starts."

"What if we're wrong?"

"Then I trust you to make the judgment call yourself. Good day, Severus."

Harry waited until Snape was gone and withdrew from the memory, reaching for the next. Outside the window, the sun was already starting to rise, but he judged that he had enough time to watch the last two.

Harry found himself back in Dumbledore's office on a sunny afternoon in mid-October. Around the room, the former headmasters and headmistresses were asleep in their portraits. Only one portrait was conspicuously empty. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, watching this portrait with rapt attention.

Snape entered the room. "You wanted to see me?"

"Have a seat," Dumbledore said without even glancing his direction.

As though on cue, Dilys Derwent appeared in her portrait. "It was hit and miss for a while there, but Katie Bell will live," she said. "She'll need to remain in the hospital until further notice."

"Thank you, Dilys." Dumbledore turned to Snape. "There's no question about it now."

"That necklace could have been sent by anyone for anyone," Snape said.

"The attempt was too juvenile for an experienced Death Eater. It has to have been a student. Mr. Malfoy is the only candidate."

"You still can't know that it was meant for you."

"No, but I can make an educated guess."

Snape hesitated. "Then, if Draco fails..."

"When," Dumbledore corrected. "Mr. Malfoy may be a Death Eater, but I have full confidence that he's not a murderer."

"Are you trying to tell me that I'm going to die?"

"No, Severus. I'm not."

Snape stared. "You can't be asking me to—"

"No. Not yet. There is still too much that Harry doesn't know."

"I won't—"

Dumbledore stood. "We're not going to discuss this now. Keep an eye on Mr. Malfoy and try to learn as much as you can. Offer to help him if you have to. I need to know what time frame I may be looking at." With that, he stood up and walked toward the door.

Harry drew out of the Pensieve so swiftly he nearly fell over. He rested a hand against the desk, fighting to sort through a sudden onslaught of thoughts and emotions. He shook his head. He could not believe it. He would not believe it. He must have mistaken what Dumbledore was saying. This next memory would prove it. He reached for the last vial, his hand shaking so badly he nearly dropped it.

Harry found himself on the path outside the Hogwarts gates once more, this time at night. Dumbledore walked up to the gates and pushed them open, stepping onto the grounds. There was a flurry of movement near the Forbidden Forest, and Snape appeared from the shadows, moving to head Dumbledore off.

"I don't have time just now, Severus," Dumbledore said.

"You've been avoiding me for months," Snape said.

Dumbledore sidestepped him and started toward the castle. "If you'll come by my office later—"

"There might not be a later," Snape said, "Albus."

Dumbledore froze in his tracks, turning back. "What do you mean by that?" he asked in a low voice.

"It means what it means."

"You know that I can't allow you to leave the school. Not now."

"You take too much for granted. You can't just move people around like pawns."

"Severus—"

"I can't do this anymore. You can't honestly expect me to—"

"_Severus!_" Dumbledore's voice rang out more harshly than Harry had ever heard it. "You agreed when I hired you that you would do what I ask."

"But—"

"In the meantime, you will continue as you were. Widen your investigation to the entirety of Slytherin House. I want to know if anyone's been helping him." He began to walk away.

Snape, seemingly stunned into silence, shook himself and hurried to catch up. "I won't do it."

Dumbledore stopped again, lowering his voice. "If you don't do it, someone else will. Self-sacrifice is noble, but there will still be a need for you after I'm gone. Please, Severus."

Harry flinched and pulled himself sharply from the memory, unable to stand it anymore. He sat on the edge of the bed, pressing his fingers over his eyes. Now he understood why Dumbledore had been so secretive with him. He knew why Dumbledore had forced him onto the sidelines on the Astronomy Tower. He was not trying to protect Harry. He was trying to stop him from interfering.

Harry was not sure how he felt about that. His anger had already been spent on Snape and Hermione, there was none left for Dumbledore. Betrayal was certainly a part of it, but even that was subdued. Overwhelmed was a better word. Dumbledore had known. All of those times he had called Harry to his office, he knew that Snape was going to kill him. He might not have known when it would happen, but he knew it was going to.

A loud knock jolted Harry from his thoughts. He glanced at the door, not comprehending for a moment. The knock sounded again, more insistently, and the doorknob rattled. Harry's heart leapt into his throat as he realized that he was still in Hermione's room.

"Harry," a low voice called. "Are you there? Please, let me in."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, stood on shaky legs, and went to answer the door.

Hermione's tension seemed to ease as well when she saw him. "Thank God. I've been checking in every half hour since five o'clock."

"Sorry," Harry muttered, casting his gaze at the floor. Now that his anger with her had burned away, he felt embarrassed for how he had treated her. "Where's Ron?"

"Still upstairs. We decided I should probably leave in case Mrs. Weasley decided to check in on him." She dipped her head a bit, trying to catch Harry's eye. "Are you okay?"

He opened his mouth to say yes, but nothing came out. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't know."

"But you understand now, right?"

"Yeah. I mean, I don't understand everything, but..." He trailed off, glancing up and down the hall. "How much did you tell Ron?"

"Just the basics. That Dumbledore...well, that Snape was just following his orders. With the way things have been lately, I thought you might be more comfortable seeing the memories alone."

Harry nodded. "Thanks."

Hermione paused and reached out to touch his arm. "I'm sure Dumbledore didn't mean for you to find out this way. He—"

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Harry said. When she withdrew her hand sharply, he felt a twinge of guilt. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're right, I shouldn't have—"

"No, I meant I'm sorry for everything. For yelling, for..."

"It's okay. I understand."

"Is Ron still angry?"

She hesitated again. "He said some things. I don't...I don't think he really meant them."

"Yeah." Harry was far from convinced.

There was a long stretch of silence. "Mrs. Weasley's going to ask about what happened," Hermione said. "I know it's still a lot to ask, but—"

"—but we can't tell anyone," Harry finished for her.

She nodded. "A few might take our side, but most would still see him as a murderer, and Aberforth, his accomplice. The Order might try to use us to capture them." When Harry did not speak, she glanced around to make sure they were alone and spoke again in a whisper. "Snape's the one who helped me figure out how to destroy the Horcruxes."

Harry gave a start. "What?"

"While we were at the Burrow. He gave me the _Caedus_ and taught me how to make the Extraction Potion for the cup." She held up her injured hand. "And that salve I used was the same one he used on Dumbledore's hand. Please, Harry. If nothing else, think of the resource we'll be losing."

Harry stared at a spot on the floor. Finally, he took a deep breath and nodded.

Hermione offered him a small, grateful smile. "I can tell Mrs. Weasley that you're not feeling well if you want."

"No," Harry said. He stepped out of the room and shut the door. He could handle this. He had to.

-

"That's quite impressive, Ron," Kingsley said, "knocking out the guards. Especially in your condition."

Ron shrugged, his ears turning red. Kingsley had arrived just after breakfast to question them about what happened. As he, Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny listened, Hermione told a harrowing story of escape from the ruins of St. Dymphna's. She modified it heavily, reducing the number of guards to just a few and leaving out all but the most basic details. When asked why she was using the Floo Network in the first place, she said that she had been trying to connect her parents' fireplace temporarily so she could talk to them. She told them about seeing Theodore Nott, but failed to mention Narcissa Malfoy. By the time she was finished, she managed to make herself look bad and Ron sound like a hero.

"But," Kingsley continued, glancing between Harry and Ron, "I want to make it clear that I don't approve of what you did. You-Know-Who set that trap to capture you, Harry, and he almost succeeded. You should have waited and contacted me."

Harry fought the urge to argue. He wanted to get this over with.

Kingsley sighed and stood, turning to Mrs. Weasley. "I'll contact Alastor right away. I imagine the ruins have been cleared out already, but I'll have him do a sweep anyway."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Thank you." Once he had gone, she rose as well. "Come on, Ginny. We have meals to pass out. You three, stay out of trouble. I mean it."

The moment the door shut, Hermione sighed. "That went well."

Harry did not say anything, setting to making a plate for Malfoy. It occurred to him that Malfoy had not eaten in a couple of days, so he piled on as much food as would fit. He noticed that Ron was staring at the table, looking exceedingly uncomfortable. Luckily, Hermione did not comment.

Harry found his room in much the same mess as when he had left it the previous night. Malfoy, who seemed to have at least showered and changed his clothes, was sitting in the corner by his miniature maze, staring at it with wide, unfocused eyes. When the door shut, his back straightened, his head snapping up.

"Breakfast," Harry said. Malfoy did not move, so Harry made his way across the room, setting the plate beside him. Then, he sat on the edge of his bed.

Malfoy stared at the plate, as though trying to figure out what it was. Finally, he picked up a piece of toast and slowly began to eat. He cleared only half of the plate before turning his attention back on the maze.

Harry waited for a few moments before speaking. "Are you—?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Potter?" Malfoy said, his gaze unwavering as he reached into the maze and began to rearrange the red balls inside. "Don't act like you care."

Harry, slightly thrown off, could not think of a good response. Instead, he said the first thing that occurred to him. "I saw your mother."

Malfoy flinched, a ball slipping through his fingers and bouncing across the room.

"She's alive," Harry said. He did not see any reason to lie, nor did the thought even occur to him. "Voldemort has her locked up, but she's alive."

Malfoy's eyes flickered, though his expression remained blank otherwise. "Did..." He paused, swallowing. "Did she say anything?"

"She asked about you. I told her you were fine."

Malfoy nodded his head once to himself. Then, he stood suddenly, his legs still bowed and shaky from spending so long in the trunk, and stumbled into the bathroom. The door swung shut with a hollow bang.

Harry stared after him. After a few moments, he got up and retrieved the red ball, placing it carefully back in the maze. He then set to work, picking up the clothes, schoolbooks, and other items on the floor. As he opened the trunk, he paused, staring into it, breathing in the rancid smell that still lingered. He tried to imagine spending two days crammed into that tiny space in total darkness, but he could not. He remembered what it was like to be locked in the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys' house, but he realized at once that that was nothing compared to this.

With considerable force, Harry finally managed to tear his eyes away. He performed a quick cleaning spell on the trunk and began tossing things haphazardly inside, trying to fill that empty space that still threatened to grab his attention. When he had finished, he closed the lid, leaning against it to make it latch, and went back to his bed to lie down.

He was exhausted. It seemed an eternity since the last time he had slept. Longer, if one did not count being unconscious in that cell. Still, it was a long time before he fell asleep.

Malfoy still had not returned from the bathroom.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. I tried not to be as mean with the cliffhanger this time. Next chapter: regressions, meager celebrations, and further explanations. When Hermione makes a deduction based on a disturbing observation, Harry is faced with his hardest decision yet. The next chapter won't be nearly as long as this one was, but I imagine the return of Draco will make up for that.


	26. Chapter 26: Birthday Woes

Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed. Surprisingly, I have no questions to address this time. My only note is to remember what I said about timelines in the last chapter's author's note. Enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 26: Birthday Woes

The room was dark by the time Harry woke up. He lay staring at the ceiling for a moment and considered going right back to sleep, but found himself unable to. So, he stretched, his arms drifting to either side.

He hit something.

Harry snatched his arm back at once and fumbled for his glasses, but his mind had already worked out what the dark mass was before his vision adjusted. Malfoy lay fast asleep with his back to Harry, his legs curled up slightly.

Harry checked himself over, though the rational part of his mind told him that he would have woken up if Malfoy had tried anything. He found nothing suspicious, so returned his gaze to Malfoy. A thousand questions and emotions filled his mind. Confusion was the strongest, followed by a lingering pity.

He was also bothered, but, strangely, not by the situation. Rather, it bothered him that he was not more bothered by the situation. He wanted to feel angry, disturbed, and disgusted, and he did, but not nearly as strongly as he would have thought.

He blinked and turned away. He was just tired. That plus the stress of the last few days would be enough to throw anyone's emotions off.

He could not even allow himself to begin questioning Malfoy's motives.

When Harry reached the kitchen, he was surprised to see Mrs. Weasley already standing at the counter. She whirled around the moment he walked in, a knife clutched in one hand.

"Oh, Harry," she said, "you're awake."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Um, what—?"

Mrs. Weasley glanced at the knife and smiled. "Well, I was hoping to surprise you, but..." She stepped to one side, revealing a layered cake on the counter.

Harry took a few steps forward, confused and not quite sure what to say.

Her smile wavered. "I thought with everything going on, it would be nice if you could have a normal birthday."

Harry blinked. "It's...it's my birthday?" He had lost all track of time in the past couple of months and had not even realized that his birthday was soon. In fact, it seemed that years had past since the start of summer. He could hardly believe that it was only July 31st, that he was only just now turning seventeen.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I'm afraid you might not be getting much in the way of presents this year. With everything that's going on, a trip to Diagon Alley is out of the question."

Harry continued to stare at the cake, not quite hearing her.

"Are you all right, dear? Hermione said you weren't feeling well yesterday."

"Hmm? I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" She felt his forehead. "You're looking a bit peaky. Did you eat that soup Hermione brought yesterday?"

Harry started to ask, "What soup?" but his throat seized up, and he fought to keep his face neutral as his heart raced. He tried to convince himself that he would have woken up if Hermione had come into his room, but he had been so tired, he was not so sure. He found himself wondering what time Mrs. Weasley had sent her up. More importantly, whether it was before or after Malfoy fell asleep next to him.

By the time people started filtering in for breakfast, Harry was even more uneasy. Half a dozen people wished him a Happy Birthday, a few of which he did not even know. When Hermione came in and said it, he forced a smile. She seemed a bit on edge, but did not say anything further to him. Meanwhile, Ron did not say a word to anyone, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the table. Ginny tried to engage Harry in conversation, but he was too distracted to hear what she was saying.

As everyone finished eating and started to leave, Hermione volunteered herself and Harry to clean the dishes. His breath caught in his chest, and he glanced around at the few people still in the room, hoping that someone else would stay as well. Mrs. Weasley left with Ginny, however, and insisted that Ron go check in with Aura to make sure that his arm was still healing properly. He looked reluctant to go, but finally did after Hermione gave him a reassuring look.

"Sorry about that," Hermione said once the door had shut. "He's still a little touchy after...well, after everything that's happened."

Harry, unable to trust himself to keep a steady voice, just nodded, standing to help her clear the table.

Hermione retrieved a clean plate from the cabinet and loaded it with some of the leftover food. Then, she stopped. "Did you notice anything...strange about Malfoy since we've gotten back? Any weird behavior?"

Harry nearly dropped the glass he was holding. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." She paused. "...did you...did you tell him about seeing his mother?"

Harry hesitated, a bit thrown by the question. "Yeah," he said after determining that it would not hurt to tell her this. "Why?"

"It's...it's just..." She took a deep, steadying breath. "Look...if I tell you something, will you...will you promise to take it seriously?"

"Hermione, what is it?" Harry asked, depositing a stack of plates in the sink with a loud clatter. Her stuttering was about to send him over the edge.

She flinched. "Well, I brought some soup up for your lunch, but you were asleep, so...so I gave it to him. He seemed a little off, but I just thought it was because we were gone for so long. I mean, it's a miracle nobody went searching for you and caught him. But then...I tried to bring up some dinner later on, and I...I saw..." She trailed off for several moments, during which Harry hardly dared to breathe. "M...maybe part of it's my fault. I'm the one who locked him in the trunk that first time. And then Ron and I...even with everything going on, we shouldn't have left you to deal with him alone."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I think..." She glanced away, resting a hand on the back of a chair as though to steady herself. "I think he's unstable. Maybe even...regressed? I don't know if that's the right word."

Harry stared at her, fighting to understand what she was saying. She thought that Malfoy was...insane?

"I know," she said. "It sounds crazy, but if you'd seen what I saw... After everything that's happened to him, finding out that Voldemort has his mother might've just been a catalyst. Harry, he could be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" The word sounded strange to his ears. Even after everything that had happened, after what Malfoy had done to him, Harry was far from describing him as dangerous.

"Yeah, and...it's not just that. You've been acting strangely these past couple months, too. I mean, I know it's not just this. So much else has happened, but..." She sighed. "...I think it might be time for us to just admit to ourselves that it isn't our job to protect him."

"Are you saying we should just give up? Turn him over to the Ministry?"

"No, of course not. But now that we know Aberforth and Snape are on our side, I thought...maybe we could ask them to take him back."

"What?"

"Well, they're already on the run. And Snape's been trying to track him down ever since he ran away. I haven't told him yet that we have Malfoy, but he never was going to turn him over to Voldemort. He was actually trying to protect him."

"I don't..." Harry shook himself, trying to force his mind to think coherently. "I don't know..."

"Aberforth is contacting us tonight. I'm not saying you have to decide by then, but promise me you'll at least think about it."

Harry was silent for a moment. "Okay," he said finally.

She nodded, giving him a small smile. When he reached for the plate of food that she had filled, she spoke. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"That's okay," he said. She gave him a worried look. "I know, he might be dangerous. I'll be careful." He left before she could object.

When he reached his door, he hesitated. Was it possible? Could this really be his way out? It seemed almost too easy. Granted, he would lose the Occlumency lessons, but those did not seem to be helping him anyway. The idea of Snape performing Legilimency on Malfoy and discovering what had happened did cross his mind and terrified him, but he reminded himself that the chances of that were minimal. Maybe it would be best for everyone if Malfoy did go.

Malfoy was awake by the time Harry finally entered, sitting in his corner with his attention focused on the maze yet again. Harry just stood there, watching him. Was Hermione right?

"Are you going to shut the door sometime today?" Malfoy asked suddenly, not even looking up.

Harry turned away, closing the door. He set the plate on the desk. After a few moments, Malfoy stood and made his way over to it with a limping gait.

"Are your legs still bothering you?" Harry asked.

"No," Malfoy said dryly, collapsing on the desk chair the moment he reached it, "I'm walking like a cripple because I feel like it."

Harry rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed, his mind still racing. Malfoy seemed fine now, but did that really matter? Even if he was not unstable, that should not change anything. Malfoy had been nothing but trouble from the moment he arrived. Harry should have jumped at the chance to get rid of him.

So, why was he still hesitant?

Malfoy glanced up, his hand freezing with a piece of toast a few inches from his mouth. "Potter?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"You're looking at me like you either want to jump me or kill me."

"The latter is tempting."

"Oh, come on. You don't even sound like you believe that." When Harry did not say anything, Malfoy sighed, dropping the toast back on the plate. "Well, I know it has something to do with me. It's something you're just recently thinking about. Either you're trying to figure out how to get into my pants, or..." He paused before continuing in a lower voice. "...or you're going to turn me in."

Harry did not reply, debating with himself over how much he should say.

Malfoy stood at once and started for the door, drawing his wand. "I might not be able to escape, but I'll bet I can take a few down with me."

"Wait!" Harry leapt to his feet and hurried to block his path. "I'm not turning you in."

"You know, it's funny. I don't believe you."

"Okay, fine. You were right. There is something going on. It's very complicated, but it has nothing to do with turning you in."

"Well, it must be simple enough, if you could understand it. So, either tell me or get out of my way."

Harry stared for a moment. Then, he sighed. "I guess you'll find out eventually. Sit down."

"I'd rather not."

"Suit yourself." Harry sat on his bed again, though he stayed alert just in case Malfoy should try to run. "I'm not going through the big explanation. It would take too long, and, quite frankly, it's none of your business." He took a deep breath and gave Malfoy a very brief version of what he had found out.

For his part, Malfoy was silent, though he still seemed skeptical. When Harry finished, he still did not speak for a long time. "So..." he said finally, "...all that time...he wasn't going to turn me in?" When Harry nodded, he gave a small, dry laugh. "Great. So everything...I went through..." He looked down at the bandages on his arm. "...all for nothing."

"Seems that way," Harry said.

"So now what? You're just going to pack me up and send me back?"

Harry hesitated. "I don't know yet."

Malfoy gave a disgusted sigh. "You don't have to put on a show. I know you're itching to get rid of me."

Harry opened his mouth, the words spilling out before he even thought about it. "Do you want to go?"

Malfoy wavered slightly, but then rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because it really matters what I think."

"Why would I...?" Harry did stop himself this time, but there was no taking it back. "Do you?"

After a long pause, Malfoy shrugged. "Just trading in one locked room for another, isn't it?"

"Hermione thinks it'd be better for everyone."

"And what do you think?"

Harry cast his gaze at the ground. "I don't know."

Malfoy scoffed. "God, Potter, have you ever made a decision? Fine. If it means so much to _Granger_, I'll go." He stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Harry flinched and hunched forward, massaging his temples. The noise in his head was too loud, little voices arguing back, overlapping until he could no longer distinguish them. Things should not have been this complicated. He should have been happy to be getting rid of Malfoy. Why was he not happy?

After a few moments, he stood up and moved to the door. He needed to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

As he walked down the hallway, he spotted the Healer, Aura, walking toward him, leading Tonks by the arm. "We'll get you some tea," Aura said gently. "Maybe a bit of food, okay?" She glanced at Harry as they walked by, offering him a small smile.

Tonks did not say anything, breezing past him as though he did not exist. She looked even more like a ghost than when he had last seen her, her face thin and sallow.

When Harry reached the third floor, he stopped in front of Lupin's door. Nobody would be in there. People rarely visited him anymore. The silence was always deafening in that room, especially when Tonks was there, staring at him with her dead eyes. Maybe some time alone would give Harry the time he needed to think.

He was dissolved of that delusion the moment he stepped in. The room was dark and empty, and the air was stale, as though the door had not been opened for a long time. So different from when Ron had been there, when people had been in and out of the room almost constantly. Lupin, moved from his old cot to the bed, lay as still as ever, bandages wound around his throat. A blanket pulled up to his chest hid the other wound on his abdomen, but Harry knew it was there. He was white as a sheet and might have been dead save for the steady rising and falling of his chest.

Harry stepped forward slowly, sitting in a chair beside the bed. He knew that he should say something, but he drew a blank. What did one say to a person in a coma? He could not ask Lupin how he was. It occurred to him to say he was sorry, but that did not seem right either.

His mind started to drift back to Malfoy, and he sighed. "What am I supposed to do?" he said finally. There was no answer, of course. Even if Lupin was awake, he would not have expected one.

Harry was not sure how long he had been sitting there when the door opened. He did not look up, expecting that it was just Tonks. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Thought I might find you here." Ginny sat beside him. "I brought you some cake."

Harry barely glanced at the plate. "I'm not hungry."

"Well, at least open this then." She held a card out to him.

Harry blinked and took it. His name was written in looping handwriting on the cover, along with a badly drawn picture of a lion. He opened it up to find a picture of him and Ginny. His picture self had his arm around her and waved up at him with a grin on his face. It was followed by a short message:

Happy Birthday.

I'm sorry.

"Sorry for what?"

"A lot of things," Ginny said. "That I upset you. That I avoided you. That all these things have happened." She gave a small laugh. "That the card's so terrible."

Harry's lips twitched.

"I knew I could get a smile," she said. "I know you don't want me to ask, but are you—"

"No," Harry interrupted, "I'm not."

"Oh." She looked taken aback and reached out a tentative hand to touch his arm. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry shrugged. "I came up here to think. That's obviously not working."

"Is this one of those things you can't tell me about?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"I'm used to it by now. Is there anything you _can_ tell me? Be vague if you have to."

He paused, focusing his attention on his hands. "I have to make a decision."

"A hard decision?"

"That's the thing. It should be easy, but..." He sighed. "If I do it, everything will be so much easier. I'll finally be able to focus without worrying about...about certain things."

"Are there any reasons why you shouldn't?"

"A couple. One is barely relevant and the other is based on a million to one chance."

"So, why don't you do it then?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have this problem."

"Right. Well, I'd love to be able to tell you to just do it, but without knowing what the problem is, I can't." She did not speak for a moment. "Hey, you didn't flinch this... Harry?"

He had just enough time to register her hand on his cheek and the twitch in his scar before pain exploded in his head. The room dissolved, leaving behind only his hands, the fingers of which lengthened and paled. A wand faded into his vision, clutched loosely in his right hand. When he looked up again he was sitting in an armchair in a semi-dark room. Rookwood knelt on the floor in front of him, shaking.

"M...my Lord?" he said.

"I asked you to do one thing," Harry said.

"Aberforth Dumbledore attacked us. We weren't expecting—"

"Relax, Rookwood. I'm not going to kill you."

Rookwood looked up. "Y...you're not?"

"No. You're going to leave here alive. You're going to bring your brother to me, and I'm going to show you what happens when people disobey me."

His eyes widened. "Please, sir. Janus isn't involved in this. I take full responsibility—"

"I have a task for you. If you do it, I'll give your brother the choice of taking the Mark."

Rookwood nodded. "Yes, sir. Anything."

Harry's lips curled into a smile, and he raised his voice. "Bring her in."

The door creaked open at once and Bellatrix entered, her arm wrapped tightly around Narcissa's shoulders. Narcissa, though walking on her own, did not seem to be aware of where she was. "That's good, Cissy," Bellatrix said softly. "Just stand right there."

"Thank you, Bellatrix," Harry said. When she turned to leave, he held up his hand. "No. I want you to see this, too."

Bellatrix paled. "With all due respect, my Lord, I wasn't even there."

"No, you weren't. As I recall, you've had a different assignment these past couple of months. Tell me, where is your nephew?" When he received no answer, he spoke again. "Close the door."

She obeyed, keeping one hand on her sister's shoulder.

Harry turned his attention to Narcissa next. "Do you have any final messages for your son?"

Her head snapped up. "Draco? You know where he is?"

"If I may," Bellatrix said, "you're not like to get much out of her."

Harry paid her no attention. Narcissa said nothing else, so he motioned Rookwood forward.

Rookwood hesitated. "My Lord...Lucius—"

"—will no longer be a factor soon enough," Harry said. "The choice is quite simple, Rookwood. Her, or your brother."

Rookwood paused for only another fraction of a second before raising his wand. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

A flash of green light blinded Harry, and the pain returned with a vengeance. Distantly, he heard someone yelling as the scene faded into darkness. His muscles jerked and he felt himself fall, hitting the floor so hard stars exploded behind his eyelids.

"Harry?" a voice cried, and he felt hands shaking him. "Oh my God,_ Harry?!_"

He opened his eyes, squinting until the face came into focus. "Ginny?" He clutched the back of his head where it had slammed into the floor, wincing.

"I'll get Aura," she said, starting to stand up.

"No." He seized her arm. "I'm fine."

She reached down to help him sit up. "Are you sure? You might—"

"I said I'm fine!"

She jerked her hand away. "It was him, wasn't it? What did you see?"

He fought the urge to snap at her again. "He was punishing Rookwood and Bellatrix for letting us get away."

Ginny blinked. "Well, it must have been really intense. You looked like you were having a fit. I'll go get Mum."

"No." Harry untangled his legs from those of the fallen chair and rested his hand on the side of the bed, pulling himself up. "Nobody needs to know."

"Why n...?" She trailed off, realization dawning on her face. "It's not just that, is it? You saw something else." When he did not speak, she continued. "Does it have something to do with the decision?"

He nodded.

"Did it help?"

He sighed, shaking his head. If anything, this just made everything harder.

Ginny glanced at the door nervously. "Are you sure—?"

"Positive," Harry said. "I'll be fine. I promise."

She turned back to him, offering a small smile. "So much for a normal birthday, huh?"

He laughed a little in spite of himself. "I'm used to it."

Aura and Tonks returned soon after that, and Harry and Ginny left the room, heading down to the kitchen. At dinner that night, Harry tried to act as though nothing had happened, though he suspected that he was not succeeding. The others seemed to put it up to him being upset over the meager birthday celebrations, and tried to compensate by wishing him a Happy Birthday every ten minutes. Only Ginny remained quiet, giving him a worried glance every once in a while.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained in the kitchen after everyone else had gone. Hermione cleared away the dishes while Harry filled up a plate for Malfoy with what food was leftover. There was only one piece of the cake left, so he added that as well. He knew Ron was watching him but tried to ignore it.

"You'd better take that up now," Hermione said. "I don't know how soon Aberforth will be here."

Harry nodded reluctantly, picking up the plate. He heard her start to ask him something, but left before she could finish, heading up the stairs.

This time, though Malfoy's undivided attention was again on the maze, he was not still. Rather, he was using his wand to direct one of the black knights from the chess set through the maze. Only one red ball stood in the very center.

"Figured it out yet?" Harry asked lightly, setting the plate on the desk.

"Does it really matter?" Malfoy said, standing. As he moved over to the desk, he raised an eyebrow at the plate. "Cake?"

"It's my birthday."

"Oh." He set to eating without another word.

Harry just stood by the door, unable to stop replaying the scene of Narcissa's death in his mind.

When Malfoy had eaten about half of the food, he stood again. "We going now, then? Just give me a second to get my things together." He glanced around the room. "Oh, look, I'm done."

Harry hesitated, his mind racing. He needed to make a decision now.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "That's a new look," he said. "There's something else going on, isn't there?" When Harry did not reply, he reached for his wand. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Your mother's dead." Harry skipped the preamble, his mind already too taxed to deal with it.

Malfoy just stared for a long time, his expression unreadable. Then, the wand slipped from his grasp. He turned, and stumbled to the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door. The muffled sound of retching met Harry's ears.

He waited, but long after the noises had stopped, Malfoy did not return. A small part of Harry wanted to go check on him, but his feet stayed rooted to the spot for several moments. What could he say? He knew that any words that came out of his mouth would just draw the same response from Malfoy: "Don't act like you care."

And Harry did not care. Not in the strictest sense of the word, at any rate.

So, why was he now moving forward?

He made his way to the bathroom, peering inside. Malfoy sat with his back pressed against the far wall, staring down at his hands. As Harry stepped inside, the smell of vomit hit his nostrils so strongly he recoiled. Breathing through his mouth, he closed the space between them.

"What do you want, Potter?" Malfoy asked in a low voice.

Harry said nothing. Instead, he held out a hand.

Malfoy blinked at it, as though confused, then finally reached up to take it. Harry grasped his arm just above the elbow with the other hand and helped him to his feet. He led him back out into the bedroom and over to the bed. Once Malfoy was sitting, Harry turned to leave.

"You're not taking me to Snape?"

Harry paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Not tonight." He pulled the door open.

-

"What took you so long?" Hermione asked when Harry arrived in the kitchen.

"Ran into Ginny," he said without missing a beat, glancing at the empty fireplace. He moved to stand by her, keeping a fair distance between himself and Ron. "Besides, it doesn't look like I missed anything."

She shook her head, and lowered her voice so that he had to strain to hear. "Did you think about what I said?"

"I still don't know," Harry muttered back.

"What are you two whispering about?" Ron asked.

Before either of them had a chance to think of a reply, flames sprang to life in the fireplace and Aberforth's face appeared. Hermione dropped to her knees at once so that she was level with him.

"Good to see you're well," Aberforth said. He glanced at Harry and Ron. "I see you've managed to convince them."

"How is he?" Hermione asked.

"Doing better. The wounds have been healed, and his infection's starting to clear up."

"I still don't understand," Ron said. "What happened?"

"First part is yours, Miss Granger," Aberforth said.

Hermione gave a half smile. "Right. Well, you know I'd been talking to Snape for a while at the Burrow. We've been working on new ideas to deal with the Horcruxes. After we came back here though, I couldn't get to the fireplace, so we lost contact."

"That's why Charlie caught you sneaking down here," Harry said.

Hermione nodded.

"Of course, I was watching both houses," Aberforth said, "so we knew you had moved."

"After you and Ginny spotted him, I knew I had to warn him," she said. "but I didn't get my chance until the night of the full moon." She sighed. "They must've been watching his fireplace. Rookwood grabbed me. Crabbe and Goyle Sr. took down Snape."

"I was replenishing supplies at the time," Aberforth said. "By the time I got back, it was too late."

"But why were you at the Burrow?" Ron asked.

"I couldn't do anything for them. The Death Eaters covered their tracks too well. In the meantime, I knew that you two would probably try something. I guessed that if you left the house, you'd either go out the front door or take the fireplace to someplace safe to Apparate from. So, I set up a silent alarm outside the front door and took to watching your house."

"How did you find us after we left?" Harry said.

"I tracked your Apparition. I might have gotten there faster, but Mr. Weasley's curse was quite a chore to undo."

Ron's ears turned red and he mumbled a quick apology.

"Then I had to set up a place for us to go, just in case Severus was injured. I managed to find a cabin in Eastern Scotland. It's a bit close to Hogsmeade for my tastes, but it'll do until I can find something better."

"Aren't you worried that they'll use the Floo Network to track you again?" Harry asked.

Aberforth shook his head. "Far as I can tell, they found us by tracing Severus back from the Burrow. You-Know-Who probably knew who Severus was talking to, so he had his Death Eaters wait until they could grab them both."

"And then he showed me where she was," Harry said, "because he knew that I would try to save her."

Aberforth nodded. "You're all very lucky to have survived."

"So, what now?" Ron asked.

"You three will go about your normal business. Since the wards are down at the Burrow, I'll still keep an eye out there to make sure nothing happens. In the meantime, Miss Granger, one of us will contact you tomorrow night. I'm not going to give you our exact location, so you'll have to wait. I don't want something like this happening again." Aberforth's image started to fade.

"Wait," Harry said, causing him to stop. "There's still something I don't understand. Why did you sneak in here a month ago?"

"Very few people ever knew that Severus and I worked together. Draco Malfoy was one of them. I'm sure Miss Granger has told you that Severus was hiding him at Spinner's End. We always knew there was a possibility that he could escape, so I used a Memory Charm to keep him from remembering that he saw me. Granted, I'll be the first to admit that Memory Charms aren't exactly my strong suit. Which is why, after the raid on my bar in Hogsmeade, I came here to search for evidence of whether he may have been captured and interrogated. I'm sorry I knocked you out. I didn't have any time for long explanations and I couldn't run the risk that you'd try to follow me into the fire."

"I had a book. When I woke up, it was gone."

"I took it. I thought that Severus would be interested to know that you were trying to learn Occlumency again and what method you were using." He glanced over his shoulder at something they could not see. "I have to go. Tomorrow night, Miss Granger." He vanished, the flames dying down to embers.

"That's it?" Ron said. "They expect us to just sit here and wait?"

"No," Hermione said, "they expect me to keep researching and to keep an ear out for news about the Order and the Ministry." She stood, dusting off her hands. "We should get to our rooms before someone spots us."

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: a letter, more bad news, and a fistfight. As tension builds and excuses vanish, Harry is forced to answer the crucial question: Should he send Malfoy away? Schoolwork is piling up, so there's no telling when the next chapter will be out.


	27. Chapter 27: Misery

Author's Note: Many thanks to all reviewers. No questions to address. Enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 27: Misery

When Harry awoke the next morning, he was unsurprised to find Malfoy asleep next to him once again. Though he still did not know why, finding a reason seemed less important now. Malfoy had just lost his mother. Regardless of what had happened in the past, pity overshadowed all of Harry's other emotions.

Also, the question still nagged him. What was he going to do? He had to make a decision soon. Only sheer luck had kept Hermione from deducing that something had happened between him and Malfoy in the past. The longer he stalled, the more likely she would figure out that there were other factors involved. Factors that Harry did not even understand, making him hesitate.

As Harry was getting dressed, he heard a loud thud and a groan. His head snapped around to see Malfoy lying on the floor, struggling to untangle himself from the sheets. "Ow." Malfoy sat up and clutching his head.

"Are you okay?" The words slipped out before Harry could stop them.

"Oh, brilliant," Malfoy muttered. "Second morning in a row. With any luck, I won't even remember my name by the end of the week."

"You'd better hit your head pretty hard tomorrow then. It's Friday."

Malfoy shrugged. "Could be Monday for all it matters to me." He glanced in Harry's direction and rolled his eyes. "Oh, for God's sake, Potter, put your trousers on."

Harry looked down at himself and hurriedly reached for his trousers, his face burning. As his embarrassment subsided, however, he began to note the shift in Malfoy's behavior, so sudden that he suspected it was fake. He examined Malfoy's expression closely, trying to detect any sign of emotion.

Malfoy stared back for several moments. "I can't believe people actually think you're good at Defense."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"You haven't learned a damn thing."

Harry glanced away at once, frustrated with himself. This was just further proof that the Occlumency lessons were not working. He could not even tell when Malfoy was reading his mind.

A loud knock pulled him from his thoughts. He looked at the clock, wondering if maybe he had slept late, but it was still early. "Who's there?"

"It's me." Ron's voice called.

Harry moved to open the door. "What?"

"We need to talk," Ron said. He glanced at Malfoy, who had just stood up and tossed the sheets back on the bed, and his expression hardened. "Alone."

Harry hesitated for a split second, but stepped out into the hall. As they started upstairs, he thought Ron was leading the way to his room. They took a sharp left instead, however, and Ron pushed open the second door from the landing. The room where Lupin had brewed the Wolfsbane potion looked almost exactly as it had the last time Harry had seen it, except that the massive cauldron now stood empty. There were no windows, so Ron grabbed a lantern from the table and lit it before closing and locking the door.

"Interesting choice," Harry said.

"I didn't want anyone to overhear," Ron said. "Or, rather, I didn't think _you'd_ want anyone to overhear."

There was nowhere to sit, so Harry leaned back against the table. "So, what's this about?"

"I finally got Hermione to tell me what's going on. She said we can send Malfoy off to Snape."

Harry waited to see if there was more. "Yeah, I know that," he said. "Why are we here?"

"We're here because she ranted at me for two hours last night trying to figure out why _you_ haven't made a decision yet," Ron said.

Harry's stomach clenched. So, he had been right to think that she would get suspicious.

Ron sighed. "Look, I stand by what I said before. I don't understand what's going on. I don't want to understand it. I don't even want to think about it. But whatever this..._thing_ is, look at what it's done. You've changed. And if there's a way to make things the way they were—"

"You really think it's that simple?" Harry interrupted.

"Okay, so maybe not the way they were, but better than this. Every day that he's been here, things just keeping getting worse."

"Most of that had nothing to do with him. Things wouldn't be any better if he wasn't here."

"They wouldn't be any worse." Ron paused. "I know I said that I don't want to know. But if there's something that's bothering you, I'll listen."

"Nothing's bothering me."

"Then why can't you make a decision?"

"I don't know!" Harry shouted.

Several tense moments of silence passed. They stared at each other, neither moving a muscle. If not for the flickering light from the lantern, Harry might have thought that time had stopped.

"Figure it out, then," Ron said finally. "I'll keep it to myself as long as I can, but if Hermione asks me directly, I won't lie to her."

"Good to know," Harry muttered, starting for the door.

"Harry," Ron said, making him stop, "please. Just send him away. I might not be able to figure things out like Hermione, but I can tell when you're miserable."

Harry had no response, so he resisted the urge to turn back. Instead, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the hall.

"There you are," Mrs. Weasley said when he reached the kitchen, where breakfast had already begun. She dropped an envelope containing the Hogwarts seal onto his plate. "The owl came in this morning for all of you."

Harry glanced around and saw that Hermione and Ginny also had letters. As he started to pry it open, Ron entered and received one as well. Already suspecting what it was, he unfolded the letter.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be reopened for the duration of this school term. It is to serve as a safe house for any student who wishes to attend. Arrangements can be made for families. A security team will be on duty at all times to ensure the safety of the castle. Lessons will be offered at the discretion of the individual teachers and will be optional._

_Please send a reply by August 18th. Returning students will then receive a second letter detailing transportation options. Those who wish to attend classes may order their supplies upon arrival._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

"So, she is reopening the school then?" Ginny asked.

"She's been on the fence for a while," Mrs. Weasley said. "All of those students in one place is quite a liability. She had to be sure that she could take the proper precautions first. They can't be too careful."

There was a sudden flurry of movement to Harry's left. Ivan Petrov had just stood up, hurrying out of the room.

"What's with him?" Ron asked.

"He didn't get a letter," a girl who seemed to be about fourteen said. Harry recognized her as one of the werewolves. She glanced around at the few others at the table who were of school age. "None of us did."

"I imagine there'd be too much controversy," Mrs. Weasley said. "The Ministry was a hairsbreadth away from forbidding the school opening again. If they found out there were werewolves there..." She shook her head and turned back to Harry and the others. "But that shouldn't stop you four. I'll send an owl to Gringotts this afternoon to get money. I'm sure you'll be wanting to take a few lessons."

None of them spoke. Harry glanced up at Hermione and recognized the unease on her face. Mrs. Weasley did not know that they had no intention of going back.

Later that morning, as Harry was heading back upstairs, Hermione caught up with him. "We have to talk," she said.

"I'm not going back. You can if you want, but—"

"What? No, it's not that. We've got bigger problems." She glanced up and down the hallway, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded bit of newspaper. She handed it to Harry, who narrowed his eyes and glanced down at the short article.

_Breaking News: Azkaban Breakout Foiled_

_An attempted breakout at Azkaban prison taking place on the evening of July 31st has landed two guards in St. Mungo's and one prisoner in the morgue._

_"Macnair snatched the wand right out of my hand," said one injured guard, whose name has been omitted pending further investigation. "Half mad, he was. Cursing things left and right." Three other guards were able to wrest the wand away from Walden Macnair before returning him and fellow prisoner Antonin Dolohov to their cells._

_The Ministry has confirmed this morning that one of Macnair's curses struck and killed high security prisoner Lucius Malfoy, imprisoned for his participation in the attack on the Department of Mysteries last year._

_It is still unclear what set off the attack, and no other guards could be reached for comment. Until further notice, the number of on-duty personnel at Azkaban has been doubled._

_"Rest assured," Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour said in a statement released in the early morning hours, "we are doing everything in our power to ensure that this does not happen again."_

"Lucius Malfoy's dead?" Harry said.

"I was a bit more concerned about the last part," Hermione said. When Harry gave her a questioning look, she continued. "From what I've gathered, the Auror's office is stretched even thinner than the Order. They can't _afford_ to put more guards in Azkaban."

Harry furrowed his brow, his mind still more focused on Malfoy. Something was nagging in the back of his mind.

Hermione lowered her voice. "What if that's what Voldemort wants? For the Ministry to get distracted with Azkaban while he strikes somewhere else?"

Voldemort's name triggered Harry's memory. "That's not it."

She blinked. "What?"

Harry told her about the vision he had had the previous day. She gave him a disapproving look, but he ignored it. When he told her about seeing Narcissa die, her eyes widened.

"So..." she said, "...he meant for Malfoy's father to die?"

Harry nodded. "I don't know how he got the message to Macnair, but that's what he said."

Hermione thought for a moment. "He probably had an informant. Maybe one of the guards."

"Yeah." Harry said nothing further. He did not see what else he _could_ say.

Hermione looked around again and spoke in a whisper. "Are you still studying Occlumency?"

"When I have time," Harry said evasively.

"I think it might be time to ask Snape—"

"No."

"I know you still don't like him, but—"

"But nothing. I couldn't learn from him before. I'm not going to learn anything now."

She hesitated. "I guess it's your decision, but..." She paused, giving him an apprehensive look. "You do..._want_ to learn, don't you?"

"What?"

"It's just...well, I know I haven't exactly been the greatest of friends lately, but that doesn't mean I don't notice things. There's something different about you, Harry. You've changed."

Harry flinched slightly and narrowed his eyes to hide his unease. "You're one to talk."

"I know, I hid things from you. It was a horrible thing to do, and I'm sorry. I can't apologize enough. But I know how hard it is to keep secrets. You're angry, you're scared—"

"_Don't tell me how I feel!_" he shouted. Hermione cringed, backing up several steps. He felt only a moment of guilt, however, before it dawned on him. "So, that's what this is about. How many times do I have to say it? I'm sorry!"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but pounding footsteps stopped her. Mrs. Weasley appeared on the landing. "I heard shouting. Is everything all right?"

"Fine," Harry said with a blank expression, turning to walk away. Hermione tried to discreetly catch his arm, but he sidestepped her without slowing down.

She hurried to catch up, matching his pace. "I think he might be influencing you," she said once they were out of hearing range of Mrs. Weasley.

"He's not."

"You can't be—"

"I'm sure." They were at his door now, and he reached for the doorknob.

"Harry, wait."

Gritting his teeth, he turned back. "What?"

This time, Hermione stood her ground. "Don't tell Malfoy about his parents. If I'm right about him, there's no telling what he might do."

Harry stared at her for a moment. Then, he nodded once. When she finally walked away, he glanced down at the newspaper article still in his hand. Malfoy's reaction to finding out about his mother was troublesome enough. Learning about his father might just be enough to push him over the edge, if he was not already there.

Yet, Harry continued to stand there, picking through his thoughts. He was determined to figure out where his hesitance was coming from. He had to know before he went back in the room. Before he made a terrible mistake.

Finally, a single question floated into his mind.

Did Malfoy deserve to know?

He waited, but no answer came to him. Reserved to think more about it later, he pocketed the article and pushed the door open.

As he stepped into the room, something bumped his arm, as though someone had just brushed past him. He looked around, but saw nothing. "Hello?" he said tentatively.

"For God sakes, Potter, just shut the door!" a voice hissed from nowhere.

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. The moment his mind had processed what was going on, he closed the door and drew his wand, brandishing it around the room. "What the hell are you doing?"

Malfoy's head appeared in midair, his face smudged with dirt. "Finally. I swear, if you moved any slower, you'd be going back in time."

"I asked you a question." Harry kept his wand pointed at Malfoy, but his voice remained steady and oddly calm. Though he was angry, he was also grateful for the distraction.

Malfoy pulled the cloak off, revealing a book tucked under his arm, and moved over to the maze "And I'm ignoring you. Funny how that works, isn't it?" He sat cross-legged on the floor and opened the book to a page he had folded over.

Harry strode over and plucked the it out of Malfoy's hands. "'Mental Projection?'"

"Congratulations, Potter. You can read. Now give me my book back."

"If I'm right about where you got it, then it's my book. Which means you're not getting it back until you tell me what's going on."

Malfoy stood. "What do you want me to say? I needed a fresh source. I knew you got the books while you were here, so there had to be more somewhere. So, I stole the cloak and went looking. By the way, you need to find a better hiding place. The wardrobe?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "I'm still missing the why."

"Well, as far as I can tell, it might be months before you actually send me away. And while trading insults is fun, I need something else to pass the time."

"You said 'source.' Is it something to do with the maze?"

"Possibly."

Harry studied Malfoy for another moment. Then, he held out the book.

Malfoy took it, but made no move to open it.

"What?"

"You know something about my father, don't you?"

Harry looked away, seething. "If you don't stop reading my mind, I'll skip Snape and hand you right over to the Order."

Malfoy smirked. "Paranoid, aren't you? I caught a glimpse of the article's title while you were gawking at it."

"And what makes you think it's about your father?"

"Because you're not denying it."

Harry hesitated again, but he knew there was no hiding it now. He reached into his pocket and handed over the article.

Malfoy only had to look at it for a few seconds before he went rigid, his fist tightening around the paper. "Great," he said in a thick mutter. "That's just wonderful." He slowly crossed the room. At first, Harry thought he might walk out the door, but he stopped just a few feet away. "What? You're not going to ask this time?"

Harry blinked, taken aback. "Do you _want_ me to?"

Malfoy said nothing.

Harry sighed, taking a few steps toward him. "Look, I know what it's l—"

"No, you don't," Malfoy said in a low voice.

"My parents died, too."

"You didn't even know them."

Harry growled under his breath. "You are unbelievable. I tried leaving you alone. I tried being nice. What the fuck do you want?"

Malfoy's shoulders shook. For a moment, Harry thought he might be crying, but then he heard the dry laugh. "Like it matters."

"You want me to tell you off? Fine. Get over it. You're not the first person in the world to lose his parents, and you certainly won't be the last. Happy?"

"Is that rhetorical question, or are you really that dense?"

Harry took another step forward, all pretense of kindness vanishing. He had tried every other option; there was just one left. "You know what? I've figured it out. You _want_to be miserable, because you just can't accept that they deserved it."

The first swing was aimed at his head. Harry ducked, but the next hit him squarely in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Malfoy seized the advantage and tackled him to the ground. Harry's head slammed against the floor, his vision going dark. Struggling to regain his bearings, he gave Malfoy a hard shove and kicked out at his legs.

By a stroke of luck, he managed to catch Malfoy off guard and sent him reeling backwards. He grabbed Malfoy's arm and propelled himself up, twisting him around until they had switched positions. Then, as Harry paused for a brief second to catch his breath, Malfoy pulled an unexpected move. His hands dove downward, clasped Harry's legs, and tugged hard, flipping him onto his back.

And so it continued. Once in a while, one of them would manage to get in a quick punch (during one switch, Malfoy's knee connected with Harry's groin so hard he nearly blacked out), but for the most part, the struggle to come out on top dominated all else. In the end, they finally broke apart in an understood draw. Harry sat leaning against the side of the bed, his breath coming out in short spurts. Malfoy was in a similar state, struggling to sit up. He put weight on his right hand and drew it back, wincing.

"Are you hurt?" Harry asked shortly.

Malfoy flexed his wrist and shrugged. "I'll survive."

"Feel better?"

Another shrug.

"You know I didn't mean it. What I said."

"I know. You can't lie to save your life."

Harry tried to stand. His groin gave a painful throb, and he fell backwards onto the bed, groaning. He heard shuffling. Malfoy entered his field of vision, limping over to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. He sported a number of bruises up and down his arms and another on his left temple. Though Harry had made a special effort to avoid all punches aimed at his face, he felt the skin gingerly with his hands to check for soreness. Nothing. He glanced down at his own arms. He had a few slightly discolored patches, but only one large bruise on his left arm, where he had slammed into the floor during a flip. He imagined there were more bruises on his legs, but he was in no hurry to move again.

"So, what's it going to be tomorrow?" Malfoy asked in a conversational tone. "You're going to tell me Aunt Bella's dead, too?"

Harry lifted his head. "What?"

"Well, it seems that life has decided to screw me over in sequence. She's the next obvious choice."

"He won't kill her." _She's already been punished_, he left off.

"Right. Well, if he does, wait for a few days to make sure that's the end of it."

"Fair enough." Harry let his head fall back on the bed and closed his eyes.

Malfoy did not speak again for a while. "Just get to the point already. Are you sending me to Snape or not?"

Harry's eyes fluttered open and he stared at the ceiling for a moment. "Do you want to go?" he said.

He expected the same old response, but it did not come. After a long silence, he felt the mattress shift as Malfoy stood and heard soft footsteps. When they stopped, he looked up. Malfoy had gone back to his corner to read his book.

Harry sat up slowly. The pain persisted, but it was manageable now. He got up and started for the door.

"What happened to your arm?" Hermione asked the moment she saw Harry.

He waved his hand dismissively. "I tripped." He discretely took a deep breath to steady himself, knowing that the fast he got this over with, the better. "I'm not sending Malfoy to Snape.

She gave him a reproachful look. "Harry, I know you don't trust him—"

"That's not why. Malfoy only stays here because he knows we won't turn him in. If we send him back there, he's a flight risk."

"Are you sure?"

"You can tell them that we have him so they'll stop looking. But that's it."

She hesitated. Harry was sure she was about to argue, but finally she just nodded. "Okay. I'll tell them tonight."

-

After breakfast the next day, Hermione hung back in the kitchen with Harry. "I need to talk to you," she said once they were alone.

Harry stopped filling the plate for Malfoy, feeling a sinking in the pit of his stomach. He had been expecting this. He had known that her apparent acceptance of his decision not to send Malfoy away was false. In fact, he lay awake for hours the night before worrying about the inevitable interrogation. His mood was not improved when around two o'clock in the morning, Malfoy, no doubt believing Harry to be asleep, crawled into the bed beside him. Harry was awake for nearly another hour after that, listening to Malfoy's slow breathing. After everything that had happened, the thought of kicking him out of the bed did not even occur to Harry. He could only lie there and wonder how his life could have gotten so screwed up so fast.

When he looked at Hermione, she only nodded at the plate. "You can go ahead and take that up. Whenever you've finished, meet me in my room." She left.

Harry stared after her, his unease increasing. He wondered why she was delaying. Either she expected it to take a long time or she wanted to make absolutely sure they would not be interrupted. Possibly both.

When Harry reached his room, Malfoy was still fast asleep. He set the plate carefully on the desk and glanced back at the door, hesitating. For one fleeting moment, he considered not going, but he knew that Hermione would come get him if she thought he was taking too long. The last thing he needed was for her to see Malfoy in his bed again, so he quickly stepped back into the hall.

Hermione's door was slightly ajar. As Harry approached, he was surprised to hear voices from within. He strained to understand what they were saying, but they stopped before he could. Hermione was pacing the room, her arms crossed over her chest. Ron sat on the bed, watching her with a tense expression. When Harry arrived, Ron stood at once, and Hermione stopped in her tracks.

"Shut the door," she said.

Harry did not move. If Ron was here, this must be worse than he thought. "What's going on?"

She glanced between him and Ron. "I'm sorry. I thought you might say no if you knew I wanted to talk to both of you."

Harry furrowed his brow, confused, but finally shut the door.

"As you know, I talked to Aberforth last night," she said, pausing for a moment. "I'm just going to come right out and say it. He thinks, and I agree, that we should go back to Hogwarts."

The shock passed quickly. "No," Harry said.

"Just hear me out—"

"I'm not going back."

"I'm not talking about taking classes. I just—"

"It has nothing to—"

"Would you let her talk?!" Ron shouted. Harry turned a glare on him but fell silent.

Hermione's eyes flitted to Ron, and she looked briefly grateful. Harry noticed and his eyes narrowed further. "Look," she said. "I know you have your reasons for not going back. I respect that, but we have to face facts. I've hit a brick wall. I need new sources."

"We already checked Hogwarts," Harry pointed out. "There was nothing there."

"Nothing on Horcruxes, but we didn't check soul magic. If I can just pin down some more of the properties, I know I can work something out. Besides, it'll be easier to contact Aberforth from the school. We won't have to worry about the Order finding out."

Harry hesitated for a split second. "What about Malfoy?" Ron glanced at him, but he pretended not to notice.

"We already thought of that. If we can talk Professor McGonagall into letting us come back early, I think we can work it. We won't even have to lock him in the trunk. We can send him through Floo to Aberforth's cabin the night before we leave, and they'll meet us in Hogsmeade the next night."

"Isn't that a little risky?"

"Only one of us has to go to get him. Whoever it is can wear the cloak. Really, it'll be safer. The Aurors will probably go through our trunks when we get there."

"But where are we going to keep him? I don't know if you've noticed, but Gryffindor Tower isn't exactly the best place for keeping fugitives."

"We can use the Room of Requirement. We may even be able to rig up a room where only we can see the door."

He paused again. "I don't know..."

"Well, I'm going. With or without you two." She walked past them, stopped at the door, and glanced back. "I'm contacting Professor McGonagall after breakfast tomorrow. If you're coming with me, be there. If not...I'll be in touch." She left, the door slamming shut with a hollow bang.

A long silence passed, as though Harry and Ron were trying to wait each other out. Finally, Ron rolled his eyes. "And somehow, it all comes back to him."

"I decided not to go back long before Malfoy came into the picture," Harry said.

"And yet you still bring him up."

"What do you want me to say? He's my responsibility."

"No, he's not! When are you going to get that through your head?"

"Look, if you want to go, just go. I'm not going to stop you."

"I _am_ going. Unlike you, I still care about destroying the Horcruxes."

As Ron started toward the door, Harry caught him by the arm. "How dare you—"

"What? Tell the truth?" He sighed, shaking his head. "Look, you're still my friend. Nothing's going to change that. Which is why I'm not going to argue with you. But think what Dumbledore would want you to do." He pulled his arm from Harry's grasp and reached for the doorknob.

Harry did the only thing he could do. He watched Ron walk away.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: new distractions, mental constructs, and emotional hurdles. Facing tests of sanity and patience, Harry must find the balance between his own conscience and what must be done. This next chapter has a few scenes that are a bit tricky to maneuver, so it might take a while to finish. For those who have been a bit exasperated with the last few chapters though, I promise plenty of interaction between Harry and Draco.


	28. Chapter 28: Control

Author's Note: A thousand thanks to all reviewers. This chapter was a bit of a trial. There's a lot going on, and one scene in particular received a drastic last minute edit. Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoy it.

- - - - -

Chapter 28: Control

After lunch, Harry was surprised to find Malfoy not in his corner, but lying flat on his back in the middle of the floor. "Malfoy?" he said tentatively, setting a plate of sandwiches on the desk. There was no answer. He stepped a little closer and saw that Malfoy's eyes were rolled back in his head, his breathing shallow. "Malfoy!"

Malfoy's eyelids fluttered, and suddenly he was back to normal. "I thought I had at least another hour," he said as he sat up.

"What the hell were you doing?"

"You want the detailed explanation? I don't think you'd understand it." He stood, wavering slightly.

"Make it simple."

"How about I just show you? Lay on the bed."

Harry blinked. "_What? _If you think for one second I'm going to fall for—"

"I figured out the maze."

Harry broke off, gaping. "You...when?"

"Last night. Or this morning. I wasn't exactly looking at the clock."

"So? What does it mean?"

"See? We're back to the complicated part." He picked up the book he had filched from the library the day before, flicked it open to the section on mental projection, and held it out.

This time, Harry skimmed the entry. "I don't understand."

"What did I just say?" Malfoy took the book back. "When Lupin was poking around in my head, did he tell you what he was doing?"

"Um..." It took Harry a moment to remember what he was talking about. "...he said he was doing Legilimency." He already did not like the sound of this.

"Then he was oversimplifying. Mental projection is technically a subfield, but it's an entirely different arena."

"What does any of this have to do with the maze?"

"I'll put it in terms a first year could understand. It took me this long to figure out the maze. Judging by the way our lessons have gone so far, I'd wager it'll take another year to get it through your head. So, we could do that, or I can go in and show you exactly how it works. All you've got to do is lay down."

"And you expect me to just trust you?"

"I expect you to know that I'm not that stupid." Malfoy drew his wand, dropping it on the desk. "There. Just in case things go bad, you'd better drop yours too. Unless you want to explain to the Weasels why there's blood on the ceiling."

Harry remained still for a long time, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "When Lupin did this, he had to knock you out first."

"He was repairing my memory. This is different. I need you conscious."

Harry paused for a split second longer before finally drawing his own wand and tossing it onto the desk. "Now what?"

Malfoy grabbed a sandwich off the plate, took one bite, and set it back down. He grabbed the desk chair, moving it to the foot of the bed. "We get started. Lay down."

Harry hesitated, then stepped over and sat on the bed, slowly lowering himself until his head was at the foot of the bed. He looked up at Malfoy's face hovering above his and felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Malfoy dusted his hands off and reached toward Harry, who flinched.

"Relax," Malfoy said. His fingers lighted on either side of Harry's head. "You're going to feel some pressure. Try not to fight it. Whatever you do, whatever you see, don't break eye contact. Unless you want our minds to meld together."

Harry nodded once, his insides still squirming. Malfoy's eyes stared intently into his, and he had to fight the urge to wrench away. Against his will, his mind started to replay the things Malfoy had done to him, memories in vivid sensory detail. He could not stand this. He was too close.

"Shh..." Malfoy's voice was oddly soft as he massaged Harry's temples. "Don't think about that."

The images slowly blurred, melding into a soft blue-gray color, the feelings shifting to a gentle, soaring sensation. Harry's muscles relaxed. Though he could still see Malfoy staring down at him, it seemed unimportant now. In fact, it did not even seem real anymore.

After a few moments, he felt himself begin to sink. Malfoy's face was getting further and further away, as though...as though he were staring at it through a dark tunnel.

The familiarity jolted Harry out of the blue-gray world and his heart leapt in his chest. The pressure on either side of his head increased.

"Don't fight it," Malfoy's voice echoed from far away. "Calm down."

Harry took a deep breath, or at least imagined that he had, and tried to do just that. The darkness pressed in around him, the image of Malfoy shrinking to nothing. An invisible weight threatened to crush him from above, but he tried to ignore it. He felt something brush his arms, and he forced himself to focus on the darkness.

"You can look now, Potter."

Harry, who had not even realized that his eyes were shut, opened them. He found himself standing in the middle of what looked like the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. Instead of stands, however, the field was surrounded by an inky blackness, as though the world just dropped off. Malfoy stood a few feet away, watching him. Harry looked away almost at once and turned his eyes upward instead, meeting with the same darkness. If he squinted, he could barely make out a pinprick of light, as though someone had poked a needle through a black ceiling.

"What the hell was that?" he asked finally, standing up.

"_That_ was a near disaster," Malfoy answered. "If you kept fighting me, you might've been stuck like that."

"Not that," Harry said. Though the feeling of being in the tunnel was still fresh in his mind, it was not the thing that bothered him. "The...the other..." He struggled to find words to describe the blue-gray world. There was something oddly familiar and...comforting about it.

This time, it was Malfoy's turn to glance away, looking almost embarrassed. "I just thought...you know...Quidditch. Anything to stop your twitching."

Harry realized at once that that was exactly what it had been like. In fact, he wondered why he had not noticed it before. As his eyes flitted back to Malfoy, he felt his face grow hot and quickly changed the subject. "What is this place?"

"Technically, it isn't a place," Malfoy said. "It's a mental construct."

"A mental...you're telling me we're _inside_ my head?"

"In a way," Malfoy said. He gestured over the field. "I'm projecting the imagery, since you don't know how to."

"So, what does this have to do with the maze?" Harry asked again.

Malfoy shook his head. "Nothing yet. First you have to learn the lay of the land. We'll start out with something simple." He held his hand out to one side and a broomstick materialized in his grasp.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked, annoyed by the awe in his own voice.

"I willed it. Now it's your turn."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but held out one hand nonetheless. He stared at the empty air, feeling utterly ridiculous. Malfoy was just trying to make a fool of him.

"Don't try for a generic broom. You'll only get as much detail as you imagine." He turned his own broom to show that it was his own Nimbus 2001.

Harry narrowed his eyes, but finally closed them and concentrated. He pictured his Firebolt clearly in his mind, recalling every last twig in the tail, the feeling of the handle gripped in his hand. When he opened his eyes again, he did not have to imagine anymore. He swung the broom up into both hands, staring at it. "How?"

"Just an illusion," Malfoy said. "I imagine you didn't remember the serial number."

Harry checked the handle and, sure enough, the serial number was missing. Still, it was hard to believe that this was not his broom. It was the same size, same weight, not a single twig out of place.

Malfoy smirked. "You'll find things here don't work quite the same as out there." He held out his left arm and, for the first time, Harry noticed that it was bare. There were no bandages, no wound, no Dark Mark. Only pale skin. Then, he opened his fist, revealing a Golden Snitch.

Harry shook himself out of his shock. "What, we're going to play Quidditch?"

"Not really," The Snitch spread its wings and rose into the air, circling around Malfoy once before dropping back into his hand. "The Snitch has no consciousness. It can only do what I want it to do."

"I suppose that's the only way you could beat me."

Malfoy gave a short laugh. "Witty, Potter. But I won't be playing this round." The Snitch shot out of his hand into the dark sky. He straddled his broom and rose up nearly a hundred feet. "Come on then."

Harry kicked one leg over his broom and tried to take off. Nothing happened.

"Didn't I tell you?" Malfoy called down to him. "Things don't work the same here. You have to will the broom to fly."

Harry tightened his grip on the handle and squeezed his eyes shut. It seemed an eternity since he had last flown. He tried to remember his last Quidditch match, but what came to his mind instead was the memory of the blue-gray world, the feeling of soaring. This time, when he opened his eyes, he was in the air.

But that was not all. The darkness was gone, replaced by a blue-gray sky, as though it were early morning.

Malfoy glanced around, seeming a bit unnerved. "Good," he said after a moment. "Now, catch the Snitch."

Harry turned away and circled the field. To be honest, he was not all too concerned about the Snitch. It had been so long since he had been on a broom. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the wind blowing in his hair.

Then, he realized that the breeze was real. He stopped his flight, squinting. He could just make out Malfoy, a tiny figure swooping around the goal posts on the opposite end of the field. He remembered how long it had been since Malfoy had even set foot outside, much less flown, and felt a twinge of pity. He shook himself and turned away, starting his search for the Snitch.

Harry had never had so much difficulty while playing Quidditch. In fact, it took him so long to catch his first sight of the Snitch, he almost managed to convince himself that it was not really there. When he finally spotted it near the ground, he dove. As he drew nearer, however, the Snitch veered left and, in an unusual move, circled behind him. Caught off guard, Harry twisted around. The broom wavered sharply, and he lost his grip, falling the last few feet to the ground.

"Bravo." Malfoy swooped down to hover just above him, leaning forward on his broom with a smug look on his face.

"This is stupid," Harry said as he struggled to his feet. "How am I supposed to catch that thing?"

"This is your mind, Potter. Theoretically, you should have more control over the physics than I do. You can't catch the Snitch until you learn to control it."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh and kicked off again. This time, it took less time to find the Snitch, but he hung back for a while, just watching. It was moving normally now, zigzagging through the air. In fact, if anything, it seemed to be moving slower than usual. Confident that he had it this time, he sped toward it, hand outstretched. But when his fingers were just inches away, the Snitch dropped away. He shot past it and had to swerve to avoid crashing into a goal post.

So he tried again. And again. He chased the Snitch all over the field. At one point, he thought he had it cornered at the very edge of the field, but it feinted left and shot off to the right, evading his grasp. Soon, he was out of breath. His back felt wet and uncomfortable, and sweat trickled into his eyes, blurring his vision.

"You're making this too hard," Malfoy said. "Don't chase the Snitch. Make it come to you."

Harry paused in his flight, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes with his shirt. When he looked again, he spotted the Snitch almost immediately. It was lingering several feet away, as though mocking him. He narrowed his eyes at it. He was not sure what he was supposed to do, so he just focused, trying to will it to move to one side.

It did. At the same moment, however, his broom gave a lurch, plummeting several feet. His grip on the broom handle tightened, his heart pounding in his ears.

"Careful," Malfoy advised. "Don't forget, you have to keep the broom flying."

Harry took a deep, steadying breath and turned his attention back to the Snitch. It had moved, but not far, ascending slowly toward the sky. Harry rose with it as though stalking prey. As he got closer, it suddenly cut to the left. Frustrated, Harry whirled around and chased after it, wishing it would stop.

It did. In fact, it halted so suddenly, he overshot it. By the time he turned back around, it had started moving again, but not fast enough. He caught the Snitch by one wing and held on tight, pulling it back so he could get a better grip with the other hand. It had stopped struggling by then, however.

About twenty feet above him, Malfoy sat back on his broom, clapping his hands hollowly. "About time. All right, you can make the Snitch stop. Now, make it fly."

"What's the point of this?"

"Before we get to the maze, you have to gain control of this plane. You need to know how to conjure and control things."

Harry sighed and concentrated on the Snitch. As it rose from his hand, he felt the broom give a shudder, but he just locked his legs around it, and after a moment, it steadied.. Meanwhile, the Snitch moved in a sluggish arch away from him.

"Better make it go faster than that," Malfoy said. Before Harry could even think about what he meant, Malfoy dove. Harry's heart jumped, and so did the Snitch, right out of Malfoy's grasp.

Harry fought to compose himself and directed the Snitch to do a quick loop around Malfoy's back. Malfoy anticipated the move, however, and reached around, closing his fingers around the fluttering wings.

"Granger could've caught that. Try again." Malfoy tossed the Snitch into the air. The moment Harry caught it and sent it speeding away, he took off after it. Harry took the Snitch on a brief downward spiral and directed it toward the goal posts. It helped to imagine the Snitch as himself and Malfoy as the rogue Bludger from second year chasing after him. He sent it though a hoop and, when Malfoy drew too near, had it make two laps around him before taking off straight up into the air.

Malfoy continued to chase the Snitch. He caught it a few more times, but each round took longer and longer. Harry started getting creative with his moves, sending the Snitch on complicated spirals and loops around the goal posts and Malfoy. He performed several feints, though Malfoy was quick enough not to fall for most of them. Though Malfoy appeared to be working just as hard as Harry had, however, he did not even seem to break a sweat.

Then, all at once, Malfoy's broom dropped sharply, falling nearly fifty feet before coming to a halt. He wrapped his arms tightly around it, breathing harshly.

"What was—?"

"Lesson over." Malfoy shot toward Harry, closing the distance between them in less than a second. Before Harry could react, Malfoy's hand grabbed his robes, and he felt himself jerk upward, the scenery blurring and fading into darkness.

Then, just as fast, color rushed back in around him, and he found himself on his bed again. As his entire body tensed up, he heard a crash and flipped onto his side. Malfoy's chair had toppled over, and he lay on the floor, groaning.

A sharp knock made Harry jump again. "Harry?" Ginny's voice called through the door. "I heard a crash. Are you okay?"

"Fine," Harry replied, hoping he sounded more calm than he felt. "I'll be there in a minute." He turned his attention back to Malfoy, who was sitting up now, blood trickling from his nose. "Um...you're..."

Malfoy rubbed the back of his hand over his nose. He jerked his head once at the door and stood, limping to the bathroom. Harry waited until he was out of sight, mentally collected himself, and stood. His vision swam, and he nearly fell over, clutching the bedside table. As soon as the world stopped spinning, he made his way to the door.

Ginny's eyes widened the moment she saw him. "You look like hell."

"Thanks," Harry muttered, one hand clutching the door and the other braced against the frame.

"No, I'm serious. Are you okay?" She reached up to feel his forehead.

The moment her fingers touched his skin, he jerked back. "I'm fine."

She withdrew. "Mum sent me to get you for dinner," she said carefully. "I can tell them you're sick."

"Thanks," Harry said, moving to shut the door.

Ginny put her hand out to stop it. "You can barely stand. You're obviously not fine."

"I'm tired. I just need to sleep."

Her expression darkened. "Damn it, Harry! I tried to be understanding. I tried to step back and let you work it out yourself, but I can't just stand here and watch you do this to yourself." She stepped forward, squeezing past Harry into the room.

He turned to face her, irritated and slightly panicked. "Can we talk about this in the morning? I'm really—"

"No, we're going to talk now. Harry—"

"I said not now!" He had not meant to yell, but it was too late to take it back.

She only turned away with a sigh, biting her lip. "God, if you hate me that much, just say it."

Harry wavered. "W...what?"

"Every time I ask you what's wrong, you pull away. Every time I touch you, you flinch. Every...single..._fucking_...time!"

He gaped at her for a moment before taking a step forward, touching her arm. "Ginny—"

It was her turn to jerk away. "Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?"

"I didn't—"

"Don't. I can't pretend things are all right anymore. So if you won't tell me why, then at least have the nerve to tell me you don't love me."

Harry stared. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wanted to reach out to her again, but he held back, knowing it would just make things worse. She wanted words. He was not sure exactly which words she wanted, but it did not matter. He could not say he did not love her any more than he could say he loved her.

"Fine." She stepped around Harry again and into the hallway. "Maybe if you'd stop wallowing in self-pity for two seconds, you'd realize there's still people in this house who care about you." The door swung shut.

Harry stared after her for a long time. When he finally looked around, he saw Malfoy watching him from the doorway of the bathroom. He held a wad of bloody tissues in one hand, but his nose seemed to have stopped bleeding. The expression on his face plainly told that he had overheard.

"I don't want to hear it from you," Harry said, stumbling across the room.

"I didn't say anything."

"Keep it that way." Harry collapsed onto his bed. The sheets were slightly damp from the sweat that had soaked through his shirt, but he did not care. He rolled onto his back and groaned, rubbing his eyes. His stomach churned, and a lump had formed in the back of his throat.

He was so consumed with his thoughts he did not feel the bed move beside him. A light touch on either side of his head made him flinch, however. "What the hell are you doing?"

Malfoy, who sat beside Harry with hands poised on either side of his head, shrugged. "Well you said I couldn't talk, so..."

"Don't even think about it."

"You're paranoid."

"I wonder why!" Harry tried to sit up, regretting it at once when he felt a muscle in his lower back spasm. His face contorted and he fell back down.

"Careful, Potter. You were just on a broom for six hours. You need to take it easy."

"But I wasn't. I was lying down the whole time."

"Your mind thinks you were flying. Until you can learn to control your physical state on the field, everything gets transferred."

"What about you? You didn't get that nosebleed from flying."

"No, I got it because I withdrew too fast. I overshot." He touched his nose lightly, as though to make sure the bleeding really had stopped. "I heard your girlfriend knock, and I panicked."

"I didn't hear anything."

"I blocked out the sounds. I didn't want you hearing a noise and falling off your broom."

Harry closed his eyes again. "I'm touched," he muttered sarcastically. When he felt the fingers on his head again, tracing small circles around his temples, he did not pull away.

-

When Harry woke again, it was dark outside. He lay for a long time listening to Malfoy's slow, steady breathing, trying to remember what he had dreamed about. All that came back to him was the image of a dark corridor lined with locked doors.

It made him think of Hogwarts. He had to make his decision in the next few hours. He had been so adamant about not going back, but now he was not so sure. Now that he really thought about it, all of his reasons for not going back seemed so stupid.

And there was the issue of the Horcruxes. He felt so guilty for leaving it all on Hermione. If he let her go without him, he might as well just admit that he was giving up.

But he was still hesitant. And he hated himself for it, because he knew that his reasons were not the same as they had been. Rather, they were all tied up in the horrible mistake that lay fast asleep beside him.

Just then, that mistake let out a low grown, stretched, and started to turn on his side. Harry reached over at once and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back so he would not roll off the bed. Malfoy blinked and glanced up at him. "And my head survives another day," he said.

Harry did not reply as he stood to get dressed.

"Uh-oh." Malfoy sat up. "Who died?"

Harry pulled his shirt on. "Nobody died."

"Somebody got captured? You're turning me in? You changed your mind and you're sending me to Snape?"

"No."

"Then what?" When he got no answer, he sighed. "Come on, we both know you're going to tell me. Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?"

Harry hesitated but decided there was no sense in keeping this to himself. After all, if he did decide to go, Malfoy was going to find out anyway. "We might be going back to Hogwarts."

"Oh." Malfoy leaned against the headboard, blinking. His expression was only mildly surprised, and he seemed to be contemplating something.

Harry waited for a moment, wishing Malfoy would say something else. When no words came, he spoke again. His voice sounded artificial, as though it was not even his own. "We got our letters a couple days ago. Hermione's going. Ron said he was, too. I haven't decided yet." He expected a retort. It worried him slightly when he did not receive one. "Are you—?"

"Can we skip this part, Potter? It's getting old."

"I really want to know."

Malfoy was silent for a long time. "I don't know," he said finally.

"You won't have to go back in the trunk." Harry was not sure why he felt the need to reassure Malfoy, but it made him feel slightly less uncomfortable. "But we will have to send you to Snape and Aberforth for a day."

"I knew there was a catch." Malfoy stood. "You might as well turn me in now."

"We're just asking them to watch you. They have no reason to interrogate you."

"Do you really think they'd need one?"

Harry paused. Malfoy had a point. Pensieve memories or not, he did not trust Snape or Aberforth. He moved slowly toward the desk, glancing down at the two wands that still lay on it. His mind made up, he retrieved Malfoy's and brought it to him. "Aberforth said the cabin isn't far from Hogsmeade. If things go bad, get yourself out and go to the Shrieking Shack. Then if Aberforth doesn't meet me, I'll know where to find you."

Malfoy stared down at the wand in his hand, as though he was not quite sure what it was. "So," he said after a moment, "I suppose this is happening, then."

It was not a question. They both knew the answer. Of course, Harry was going. He realized now that from the moment the letter arrived, he had known. It was just a matter of accepting it.

-

Hermione's eyes were on Harry as people began to filter out of the kitchen. He stared back, waiting. Ron sat across the table, looking bored with the proceedings. On closer inspection, however, he seemed far more interested in the table than was possible.

When everyone else had left, Hermione watched Harry for a few more moments. Then, her lips twitched into a small smile, and she stood. "Let's do this." Grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, she knelt down, threw it into the fireplace, and stuck her head in the flames.

Harry and Ron waited, not quite meeting each other's eye. Tension was thick on the air, so much so that Harry started to wonder if he really was doing the right thing. But it was too late. If he backed out now, it would look suspicious.

Nearly half an hour later, Hermione finally withdrew her head, dusting soot from her hair.

"Well?' Ron said.

"It's all set," she replied. "We leave first thing in the morning."

-

Mrs. Weasley was understandably hesitant about them leaving early. After contacting Professor McGonagall herself, however, she was forced to concede that it was their decision. She, Ron, and Harry went to the Burrow that afternoon to retrieve Ron's trunk. While they were there, they also brought in Hedwig and Pigwidgeon. The owls were a bit snippy after spending so long outside, but between the three of them they managed to get them into their cages. Hedwig was particularly cold toward Harry. He could not blame her. With everything going on, he had all but ignored her for the last couple months, even when he was at the Burrow. When they got back to Grimmauld Place, they left the owls and the trunk down in the kitchen, for which Harry was grateful.

That night, Mrs. Weasley insisted on cooking them a large going away dinner. Harry was not hungry in the least, but he forced down two helpings to make her happy. His stomach protested, rolling and twisting in knots. Meanwhile, his mind was racing to figure out just how they were going to work this. All around him, there was only a light buzz of conversation.

When Harry reached his room after dinner, Malfoy picked over his own plate of food in silence. He ate very little, but Harry made no comment. Instead, he sat on his bed, leaned against the headboard, and waited.

Around midnight, he heard it: a single, sharp knock on the door. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached under it, pulling out the Invisibility Cloak. "Ready?"

Malfoy nodded once and drew his wand partially from it's invisible holster to show it to Harry. His face was ashen, but his expression was blank.

Harry strode over and draped the cloak over Malfoy's shoulders, drawing the hood up to hide his face. Keeping a tight grip on Malfoy's arm, he led him to the door.

Hermione stood in the hall. "The coast is clear. Do you have him?"

"Yeah." Harry's eyes flitted to the side to indicate where Malfoy was. They started downstairs, keeping a sharp eye out to make sure they were alone.

Ron waited for them at the kitchen table. Aberforth had arrived as well, sitting across from him. When they entered, he stood. "You have him?"

Harry nodded, and, after Hermione locked the door, he reached out. He groped the air for a moment to find the cloak and pulled it off of Malfoy.

Aberforth wavered slightly, as though he had just seen a ghost. "You know, I didn't really believe it until just now. Albus was right, you three really are quite remarkable."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, scoffing.

The noise drew Aberforth's attention. "And you. You led us on quite a chase, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy smirked. "I do what I can."

"Yes, well, I've no doubt that Severus will want a word with you about that." He took Malfoy none-too-gently by the arm and started to lead him toward the fireplace.

"Do you want the cloak?" Harry asked.

Aberforth shook his head. "You use it. We'll take a Portkey. We'll meet one of you by the train tracks behind the Shrieking Shack at midnight. If we're not there, go back to Hogwarts and pretend you don't know anything. If things go bad, no one can know that you're involved in this."

"We understand," Hermione said before either of the other two could speak.

"If anything changes, I'll contact you tomorrow evening" Aberforth threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace and pushed Malfoy forward, stepping in quickly behind him. Harry had on last view of Malfoy glancing back at him before the flames swept them both away.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: a passionate moment, a dramatic fallout, and a crisis that redefines frustration. As the trio makes the transition to Hogwarts, Harry finds that insomnia is a curse, but sleep is so much worse. I was hoping I'd never have to say this again, but I'd feel worse if I didn't warn you all: There'll be no Draco in the next chapter. I didn't intend it that way, it just kind of happened. Provided the characters cooperate with my intended storyline, I should be able to make it up to you in a couple of chapters or so.


	29. Chapter 29: Broken

Author's Note: Many thanks to all reviewers. Yes, I know, it's been a while. I really had to fight with this one. If ever there is a chapter that readers will hate, this will probably be it. The characters pushed the envelope, and I wondered if maybe I was letting it go too far. Nevertheless, the plot has survived, so I let it stand. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 29: Broken

Harry did not sleep that night. Hour after hour crept by as he lay staring at the ceiling. The bed felt empty. He knew he should not feel that way, but he could not stop. He found himself wondering where Malfoy was right now. Probably fast asleep in the corner of some other room. If Snape and Aberforth even allowed him that much. The way Aberforth had dragged Malfoy out, Harry doubted they would let him out of their sights.

Around two o'clock, Harry finally sat up, rubbing his eyes. He spent the next half hour packing up his things. Or, rather, he spent ten minutes packing his things and another twenty rearranging them to keep himself busy. When he had finished, he closed the lid and dragged the trunk to the door. He needed an excuse to get out of the room.

He stopped dead in his doorway. Ginny was sitting cross-legged across the hallway, her head bent over a book. When he stepped out, she looked up.

"What're you doing out here?" Harry asked.

She shrugged. "I come out here when I can't sleep. My roommates snore more than Hermione." She closed the book and stood. "What about you?"

"Can't sleep either."

"So, you're leaving today, then?"

Harry nodded. "After breakfast."

She glanced down at her hands. "Listen, I'm...I'm sorry about yesterday."

Harry shook his head. "I'm sure I deserved it."

"I just...I didn't want to leave things like that." She touched his arm lightly. He had not even noticed her close the distance between them. "I'm sorry."

Harry could not say who initiated the kiss. Maybe it was mutual. He did not even realize what had happened until she drew back. "M...maybe we should—"

Harry's lips closed of hers again, cutting her off. They stumbled backwards into the room. Ginny broke off again to shut the door, and soon she was pressed against it. Harry cupped her face, leaning in. It had been so long. He had forgotten how great it felt to be this close to her, touch her, kiss her. His skin burned and froze where Ginny's hands touched him, pulling his shirt up over his head.

Ginny took advantage of the brief separation and took Harry by the arms, pulling him over to the bed. She took off her own shirt and lay down. He carefully straddled her, bending down to kiss her once, twice, tracing a line to the crook of her neck, drawing out a gasp. His hands moved down to her waist, gently pulling her trousers down. Her skin shone with a light sheen of sweat and was hot to the touch. He felt a tugging at his belt and reached up to help her. He felt her hand travel over his stomach, down past his navel, and still lower. As her fingers closed over him, he let out a rush of air, leaning in to kiss her again. Her arms glided around his waist, pulling him down to her, guiding him.

He felt some resistance, and her face contorted into a slight wince. When he pulled back, however, her hands gripped his shoulders. "It's okay, " she said in a breathy whisper. "Keep going."

Even as she pulled him down again though, he knew it was over. One moment he could not be close enough, the next he was all too aware of how close he was. He withdrew at once, climbing off the bed. He felt her hand on his arm, heard her say his name, but he stood anyway, heading straight for the bathroom. He shut the door, got in the shower, and turned the water on, twisting the faucet as far as it would go. A cold stream of water hit him like a punch to the chest, then warmed until it was scalding.

He bit his lip against the pain, bracing one hand against the wall and gripping the curtain with the other. He could still feel her hands on him, but much deeper he felt Malfoy's phantom touch, branded in his skin. Malfoy's hands had traveled the same paths, his mouth closing over what had now been inside her. Harry's muscles tightened, disgust with himself deepening.

He did not hear the door open. "Harry?" Ginny's shadow moved on the other side of the curtain, and her hand drew it back. "Are you...?" She gasped and reached in, shutting the faucet off. "What the hell are you doing?"

Harry stood rooted to the spot, breathing heavily. From his neck down to his thighs his skin burned bright red, but still he was shaking.

"Harry?" She reached out to touch his arm.

He flinched away, catching a glimpse of her. Her trousers were back on, and her shirt was on backwards, as though she had just pulled it on haphazardly in her rush to get to him.

She drew her hand back. "I'm sorry. I thought—"

"Don't," he said, but it was too late. Her apology cut into him like a knife.

"Please, talk to me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Harry reached for a towel, quickly drying himself off and tying it around his waist. He left the room and went to his trunk to get a clean pair of clothes.

She followed him out. "Harry...?"

"I said I'm fine!" he shouted, rounding on her half-dressed.

She flinched. "I don't...I don't understand. Did...was it something I—"

"No." Harry turned away again, bending to retrieve a shirt. "It's not you."

"Then what? Please..." Her hand lighted on his lower back.

Harry straightened up and whirled around so suddenly he banged his shin into the trunk. Pain shot through his leg, but he barely noticed it, his heart beating a million miles a minute.

Ginny drew back too, as though afraid that he would hit her. "W..." As she trailed off, Harry could almost hear the cogs turning in her mind. Realization dawned on her face, and her eyes widened, hand rising to cover her mouth. "Oh God. I didn't...I promise, if I'd known..." He was pulling his shirt on now, and she took the opportunity to catch his arm. "Who was it?"

He shook her hand off. "I don't know what you're talking about." He threw his discarded clothes into the trunk and slammed the lid shut, lifting up one end to drag it into the hall.

"Harry!" she called, but he did not turn back.

When he got to the kitchen, he was surprised to find Hermione there already. She sat on the edge of her trunk, alternately offering owl treats to Hedwig and Pigwidgeon. Hedwig ruffled her feathers when she spotted Harry and turned away from them both.

"You're up..." Hermione gaped at him. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He left his trunk by the door, pulled out a chair, and sat down, trying not to wince as his leg gave a painful throb. "What're you doing here?"

"I never left," she said. "Someone had to be here in case Aberforth tried to contact us."

"We could've traded off shifts."

She shrugged. "I didn't want to bother you. Why are you up, anyway?"

"Couldn't sleep," he replied, not quite meeting her eye.

She nodded as though she understood perfectly. Then, she glanced at the fireplace, sighing. "I wished he'd tell me where they're staying. What if something happens and they can't get to a fireplace?"

"I'm sure everything's fine." Harry tried to sound reassuring but failed. Luckily, she seemed too distracted to notice.

They sat in silence for a long time. Harry tried to think of something to say, but he drew a blank. He could feel himself starting to sweat again, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to the still-tender skin on his chest, but he knew he could not do anything about it, so he just gritted his teeth and tried not to fidget.

Suddenly, Harry heard a muffled pounding of footsteps on the stairs. Hermione glanced up. "What...?"

The door sprang open. Harry had only a brief glimpse of Ron rushing toward him before a fist grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him to his feet. "What the fuck did you do to her?!"

Hermione jumped up. "Ron!"

Ron ignored her, shaking Harry so roughly the fabric of his shirt dug into the back of his neck. "Answer me!"

"Ron, you're hurting him!"

Ron released Harry then, rounding on Hermione. "Ginny's upstairs crying her eyes out. In _his_ room!"

"If you're going to accuse me of something, just say it," Harry spoke up, finally finding his voice. He leaned heavily against the table, clutching a stitch in his chest.

"Nobody's accusing anyone," Hermione said firmly, planting herself between them. "I don't know what's going on between you two lately, but it needs to stop _now_. Ron, did you even talk to Ginny?"

Ron wavered. "No, but—"

"Then how do you know she's not just upset that he's leaving?" When he looked like he was going to answer, she held up a hand to stop him. "Go talk to her."

Ron narrowed his eyes, shooting one last death glare at Harry before storming off up the stairs.

Once his footsteps had receded into the distance, Hermione turned to Harry. "What happened?"

Harry, who had collapsed back into his chair thinking it was over, stiffened. "What?"

"Come on. Ginny's crying, and something's obviously bothering you."

"I didn't hurt her." Harry said, feeling the need to establish this fact now.

"I know. And so does Ron, or at least he will. But something did happen, didn't it?" When Harry did not answer, she continued. "It's understandable. I imagine you were both feeling lonely and—"

"Shut up." The words just slipped out, but Harry did not regret them.

She blinked. "What?"

"For once in your life, stop overanalyzing every...fucking...thing."

She looked taken aback, staring at him for a moment. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "We don't have to talk about it." A long silence passed before she spoke again. "I'm going to go check on them." She stood and left the room.

Harry was on his feet at once, pacing. This was a disaster. If he had known the chain reaction this would set off, he would have closed the door the moment he saw Ginny sitting out in the hall. It was all just a stupid mistake. And now, if she told Ron and Hermione her suspicions...

It would not take a genius to put the pieces together.

He would have considered running, if he had anywhere to go. But that would just make things worse anyway. He felt trapped, the walls pressing in around him.

By the time Ron returned, Harry was a nervous mess. Still, he stopped pacing, forming his face into a careful mask.

Ron stood in the doorway, looking extremely uncomfortable. "I, um... I talked to Ginny."

"So?" Harry said. "What did she tell you?"

"Not much. But she did say I was wrong. I guess what I'm trying to say is...I'm sorry, mate."

Now, Harry had to fight to hide his relief. He nodded once to acknowledge the apology. "Where's Hermione?"

"Ginny wanted to talk to her."

The relief was gone. Harry rubbed the back of his neck, clenching his other hand into a fist to hide the fact that it was shaking.

Ron sighed. "Look, I won't lie to you. Hermione made me promise to be nice. But I will admit, I haven't exactly been fair to you lately, and I'm sorry."

Harry dropped his hand back to his side, glancing at the fireplace to avoid looking at Ron. "I'm sorry, too." He did not need to give a reason. There were too many to list.

Mrs. Weasley arrived not long after that. Harry offered to help her make breakfast, glad for something to do. Mostly, however, "helping" consisted of making sure the food did not burn while Mrs. Weasley worried over Ron, checking over his arm. "Now, make sure you go see Madam Pomfrey every day," she said.

"I know, I know," Ron said. "Aura said the cast's coming off in about a week."

"Well, make sure you keep taking your potions. I don't want to get an owl that you've gone and hurt yourself."

By the time Mrs. Weasley and Harry set out the plates of food, people had already begun to arrive. Hermione was one of the last. She took the empty seat next to Harry, but did not give him a second glance as she started in on her eggs. Ginny never showed up, and no one commented on her absence.

After everyone else had cleared out, Mrs. Weasley stood, moving over to a cabinet. She opened the third drawer and drew out three pouches weighted down with money, dividing them up among the trio. "If you need any more, send me an owl and I'll get it for you," she said. "Order everything by owl. Don't go trying to sneak out to Hogsmeade. Now, are you sure you've got everything?"

When she got assurance from everyone, she glanced at the clock and grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. She knelt down in front of the fireplace, threw the powder in, and stuck her head into the flames. Not two minutes later, she pulled her head back, nodding. "She wants you to meet her in the Gryffindor common room." She hugged Harry first, moving on to Hermione and Ron respectively. "Be safe. If you need anything, I'll be here."

Hermione went first, picking up one end of her trunk and grabbing a handful of Floo Powder. "Gryffindor common room, Hogwarts!" she said. The flames swept her away.

As Harry stepped forward, Mrs. Weasley squeezed his shoulder one last time. He lifted his trunk in one hand. Then, he tossed the powder into the fire and picked up Hedwig's cage, stepping forward. "Gryffindor common room, Hogwarts!" He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as he dropped through the flames.

Moments later, he stumbled out into the common room, nearly losing his balance. Hermione, as though expecting this, caught him by the arm. He turned to give her a grateful smile, but it vanished when he saw the concern in her eyes, and he shook her hand off.

It was a while before Ron finally stepped out, dragging his trunk awkwardly behind him. Pigwidgeon's cage appeared to be adhered to the lid. As he dropped the trunk and ruffled his hair, sending up a wave of soot, Hermione drew her wand to remove the sticking charm from the bottom of the cage.

In the meantime, Harry picked up Hedwig's cage, carrying her to the window. When he opened it, however, she just blinked at him and turned her head away. "Come on, girl," he said gently, reaching in to stroke her feathers. "I'll come visit you. I promise."

She nipped his finger roughly and ruffled her feathers. Then, she hopped out onto the windowsill and spread her wings, taking off for the Owlery. Harry watched after her for only a moment before turning away.

Ron went to the window next to let out Pig. The little owl's exit was considerably more spectacular. He shot out of his cage like a rocket, flying circles around the common room and hooting madly before soaring out after Hedwig.

Professor McGonagall arrived through the portrait hole just then. If possible, she appeared even more harried than she had at the Carrows' trial. "I'm glad to see you three are well," she said.

"Thanks for letting us come back early," Hermione replied, attempting to dust the soot off her shirt.

McGonagall nodded, her lips curling into a faint smile. "I'm afraid I can't stay for long. I just came up to tell you a few things. I want you to remember that even with the unusual circumstances, the same rules apply as during the school year. Most importantly, you're not to be out at night. We have a full guard patrolling the castle and grounds at night, and they won't be very forgiving of false alarms. I'm sure it doesn't need to be said, but the Astronomy Tower is also off-limits." She paused briefly. "If you have any questions, you may ask me or another professor. For the time being, Professor Sinistra has been assigned as your Head of House."

"Have you found a new Transfiguration professor?" Hermione asked.

"I'm afraid not. Working at Hogwarts doesn't seem to hold quite the same appeal as it used to." She pulled a watch from her pocket, squinting down at it. "I have business to attend to. I expect to see all three of you at lunch." She climbed back out the portrait hole.

Hermione drew her wand and waved it once at her trunk, sending it skidding across the floor and up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. She did the same for Ron and Harry's, sending them off toward the boys' dormitory. She sat on the couch then, rubbing her eyes.

"You can go sleep if you want," Ron said, sitting next to her while Harry took one of the armchairs. "We'll keep an eye out for Aberforth."

She sat up straighter. "No, I'm fine. I want to be here in case something does happen."

Ten minutes later, she was slumped again, her chin resting against her chest. Ron glanced over at her, shifting nervously.

Harry looked on through a haze. Now that his initial fear that Ginny had told them was slightly subdued, his exhaustion was starting to catch up with him. Even the worries he had felt before seemed less important. He only watched Hermione sleep and Ron watching her and wondered at how they were back. After everything that had happened, they were back at Hogwarts, back in the common room, together. It did not seem possible.

And so, Harry slept, halfway convinced that he was already dreaming.

-

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" Harry pried his eyes open just enough to see Hermione crouching in front of him, her hand on his shoulder, before snapping them shut against the light. His scar twinged, but that was nothing compared to the pain that exploded in his head, as though someone were trying to carve out a chunk of his brain. He doubled over, clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

Hermione's frantic voice spoke again, sounding slightly muffled. "What's wrong? Is it your scar?"

"No." Harry slurred his words. The pain was so intense, he could hardly feel the rest of his body. "My...my head." He groaned, his fingers clenching around his hair.

"What's happening?" Ron said from a distance.

"I don't know." Hermione said. "We have to get him to the hospital wing."

Harry tried to protest, but the pain intensified, and a bloodcurdling scream assaulted his ears.

"Shh..." A hand grasped his arm, the touch almost too light for him to feel. "Harry, listen to me. I know it hurts, but you have to let go. Ron, help me!"

Another hand grabbed his other arm. As they bent his arms down, he opened his eyes again. The light was still too intense, but the rise in pain was barely distinguishable anymore. It did him no good, however; his eyes watered, blurring his vision.

"That's good, you're doing good. You've got to stand up now, Harry. Ready? On three. One...two...three!"

The hands around his arms tightened and, Harry felt himself lift a few inches off the chair. His legs only straightened a few inches before buckling and he pitched forward, his vision going dark. Far away, he heard someone yell his name.

-

Harry was drowning. Or, at least, that's what it felt like. He was lost in a sea of blackness without a single pinprick of light, a rushing sound filling his ears. His entire body ached, his head worst of all, and his lungs worked frantically, but still they screamed for oxygen. He writhed, arms and legs pulling against some invisible force holding them in place.

Distantly, voices whispered, getting closer with each passing moment. "...waking up," a voice finally broke through. "Harry? Can you hear me?"

Harry stopped struggling, exhausted, though he continued to gulp lungful after lungful of air. Concentrating every bit of his energy, he pried his eyelids open, fighting the urge to shut them again against the piercing light. As his eyes adjusted, he found most of his vision taken up by Hermione's blurry face. Beyond her, he saw brilliant white, shining around her like an aura.

Harry's limbs tensed again, but something was holding his wrists and ankles rigid. "W..." His dry throat worked silently, struggling to form words.

Hermione's face contorted into a pained, pitying smile. "Sorry. Madam Pomfrey had to restrain you so you wouldn't hurt yourself."

"W...what...happened?" Harry rasped out. His brain felt odd, as though it had been severed into pieces with dead space in between, thoughts struggling to navigate their way to coherency.

"We don't know. You were having some type of a seizure, but Madam Pomfrey couldn't explain why."

"We thought we were losing you, mate." Another voice said. Harry let his head drift to the side and saw Ron sitting in a chair, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. Past him, Harry could see a line of beds, and he realized he was in the hospital wing.

"W...wa..." Harry coughed weakly, wincing.

"Shh, I've got it," Hermione said, reaching toward his hands and glancing at Ron. "Get his feet."

They untied the restraints and helped him sit up. The muscles in Harry's lower back screamed in protest, but the pain was barely a shadow to what he felt before, and he welcomed it. Once Hermione was sure he would not fall back down, she turned to a pitcher of water on his bedside table. Meanwhile, Ron handed him his glasses, then helped him put them on when his fingers did not seem to want to cooperate.

Hermione placed the glass in his hands and guided it up to his lips. He gulped down the water thirstily, letting out an involuntary moan of protest when Hermione pulled it away. "Not so fast," she said. "You'll make yourself sick." She raised it again so he could sip the water more slowly.

When the glass was half empty, Harry turned his head away, breathing shakily. Taking the cue, Hermione set the glass back on the table.

"How...long?" Harry asked. His voice was still weak, but his throat was not as sore.

"Two days," Hermione said. "We were going to contact Mrs. Weasley if you didn't wake up by tomorrow."

For the first time, a thought jumped through his mind quickly and his muscles stiffened. "Malfoy..." he said.

"It's fine," Hermione said. "I went to meet Aberforth and asked him to keep Malfoy for a few more days."

"Is he...?" Harry stopped himself.

Hermione gave him a slightly curious look, while Ron seemed to be making a concerted effort not to look at him. Thankfully, neither of them said anything on the subject. "Do you remember anything?" Hermione asked.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, straining to recall the last few moments before he passed out. "Someone screamed."

"That was you," Hermione said. "Any dreams?"

"No, I mean...I don't..." He pressed a palm to his forehead, tugging lightly on a tuft of his hair, as though the pain might jog his memory.

She tensed up. "Does it hurt again?"

"No...I just..." He raised his other hand, clutching either side of his head. "I...can't..._think_."

"Harry? Harry, please stop!" Hermione grabbed his wrists.

He stared up at her for several moments, not really seeing her. Finally, his grip loosened, and hers did too, letting his hands fall back into his lap. Several strands of black hair stuck out from between his fingers.

"Madam Pomfrey will want to know you're awake," Hermione said after several moments. "She went to talk to Professor Slughorn."

"I'll get her," Ron said, standing up. He walked out without so much as another glance at Harry.

Hermione stared after him for a long time. Then, she turned back to Harry, looking apprehensive. "I know you already said no, and this is a really bad time," she said, "but I have to say it now, before Ron gets back. I think you should reconsider leaving Malfoy with Aberforth and Snape."

Harry let out a rush of air and turned away, not trusting himself to keep a blank face. He did not even bother trying to think about it, knowing that it would just be a frustrating failure.

She sat in a chair by his bed and reached out to touch his arm. "Please, hear me out. You have enough to deal with already; don't add to it."

"I can handle it," Harry said, hating the way his voice wavered.

She hesitated. "I'm not convinced that all of this is coming from Voldemort anymore."

Harry's heart jumped into his throat and he leaned forward, clutching his head again. He could not do this. Even if he had a clear head, he would not want to. Now, it was all he could do to stop his mind from short-circuiting.

"Ginny told me what happened. I know you said to stop over-analyzing, but I have to ask. How long has Malfoy been sleeping with you?"

Harry's throat closed up. He could not breath. He was choking.

Hermione seemed to mistake his panic for disgust and grimaced. "Oh God, I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I meant, how long has he been sleeping in your bed. With you."

Harry continued to struggle for every breath, his fingers pulling at his hair again. This was not happening. It could not be happening.

"I'm not asking you to tell me what happened. I'd never do that. And I know, whatever this is, you probably thought you were over it. But—and please don't be angry with me—I think Malfoy's behavior is bringing it back. Or at least making it worse. I mean, I know the...the incident with Ginny is a big part of it, but I think this has been going on a lot longer than that. And..." She stood and grabbed his arms again, squeezing his wrists. "Stop."

Harry's eyes darted up to her face, narrowing. As she tightened her grip, he felt his fingers go lax, and she forced his arms back down to his sides. Then, she sat back with a pained expression, flexing the burnt fingers of her right hand. The thought that he should feel sorry for her managed to make it across the void in his mind, but the emotion itself fell short. So, Harry just continued to stare at her blankly.

She stopped, glancing back up. "I'm not saying you have to talk to me, but I'm here if you need me. You know that, right?"

No answer came to Harry. Which was unfortunate, since she seemed intent on waiting for one. So, reluctantly, he pushed his mind. "There's nothing...talk..." He pressed a palm to his forehead again, willing the world to stop spinning.

"Shh, it's okay," she said hurriedly, reaching out to grasp his hand. "I'm not trying to hurt you. If you decide to bring Malfoy here, I won't argue. But if having him here is going to make things too difficult, don't hold back just because you feel obligated."

Harry stared into his lap for a long time, his breath coming out in short spurts. A deep ache was starting to form in his skull, a tiny, knot pulsating like a miniature heartbeat from the chasm. He just had to get out one more statement. Then he could rest.

The problem was he had no idea what that one statement was. "I... Th..." Harry's shoulders jerked involuntarily.

"Okay, okay," Hermione placed her other hand over Harry's. He could feel the rough bandages scrape against his skin. "Don't try to speak. If you think we should bring Malfoy here...if you believe you can handle it...just squeeze my hand."

Harry hesitated for a long time. Then, he clenched his fingers around Hermione's.

"Okay," she said, releasing his hand. "I'll tell Aberforth tonight."

An uncomfortable silence passed between them. Luckily, it only lasted for a few moments before the door opened, and Madam Pomfrey entered, closely followed by Ron. Harry turned away from Hermione and leaned against the headboard again, glad for the reprieve.

"You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said as she set down the potion bottles she was carrying and began to check his vitals. "How are you feeling?"

Harry made a noncommittal noise.

"He's having some trouble talking," Hermione said. "He said he couldn't think."

"Hmm." Madam Pomfrey frowned and placed her thumb and forefinger around Harry's eye, holding the lid open. "Speech problems could indicate neuro—Hey," she said when Harry batted her hand away, "I'll have none of that."

"I'm...I'm not...a child." The single statement was like pulling teeth, and by the time Harry got it out, the ache in his head had transformed into a steady, pounding pain. He leaned forward, massaging his temples.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Madam Pomfrey spoke again. "I know you're frustrated, but I need you to cooperate with me. You don't have to talk, I just need a yes or a no. Does your head hurt?"

Harry nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Is it the same as before?"

He shook his head. It felt less like someone was removing part of his brain. Rather, it felt as though they had already removed it, leaving behind an aching nothingness.

"Does it hurt more?"

He shook his head again.

"Less?"

Nod.

"Can't you give him something for it?" Ron's voice said suddenly.

"Not when we don't know what's causing it. Pain can be a deterrent to keep someone from harming themselves. If we give him a potion, it might cause more damage." She squeezed Harry's shoulder again. "Are you feeling pain anywhere else? I don't mean soreness; that's to be expected. Any sharper pains?"

He shook his head.

"Are you sure?" When she got confirmation, she released him. Harry dropped his hands and glanced over to see her select two potions from the table. "This is a nutritive potion," she said, pressing a muddy-brown potion into his hand. "We'll get you started on something more substantial in the morning. This one..." She placed the dark blue potion in his other hand. "...is a sedative. I know you've been sleeping for a while now, but it's very important that you don't tax your mind too much right now. If the problem is neurological, this should keep you from having another episode." She glanced at the other two. "I'll need one of you to stay. If he starts convulsing again, we'll have to get him back into the restraints."

"I'll stay," Ron said without hesitation. Hermione put up no argument.

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Drink up, Mr. Potter. We'll see how you feel in the morning."

Harry stared at the vials. He was exhausted, and a deep sleep was very inviting, but he had already lost two days, and the prospect of suffering another time jump was not as welcoming. The others were watching him expectantly, however, and he knew there was no choice. So, he choked down the thick nutrient potion and chased it with the sedative.

The second potion was icy at first, freezing a path down his throat. Then, just as quickly, the path warmed and numbed. The drumbeat in his mind eased slightly. He felt hands help him lie down, but the feeling was distant, as though his limbs were not really attached to his body. Someone took his glasses and everything blurred for a split second before his eyelids drooped shut, and he drifted off.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please read and review. For those who greatly dislike het, don't worry, that's as explicit as it'll get. If there is more in the future, it'll be glossed over. I just needed to detail it out to show why Harry was bothered. Next chapter: a new symptom, a conflicted elf, and a dark cavern. Lost in a world defined by sensation, Harry struggles to make sense of it all. Don't worry, Draco's returning in the next chapter. And if you liked the mental constructs, you'll love this one. I imagine it should be finished within the next couple of weeks, since I'll be going on spring break soon.


	30. Chapter 30: Spanning the Void

Author's Note: A thousand thanks to all who reviewed. I was pleasantly surprised by the positive feedback for the last chapter, especially with the Harry/Ginny scene and lack of Draco. After continuing the story further, I've found that this new plot arc I created in the last chapter has actually helped to clear out some of the cobwebs and make the path much clearer. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 30: Spanning the Void

The pain was gone. That was the first thought to make its sluggish path through Harry's mind. It was a long time before another one broke though the fog. Several more moments passed before he was finally able to open his eyes, and only then did he remember where he was and why. He glanced around the dark hospital wing groggily. He saw Ron's blurry form slumped over in a chair on one side, but no one else.

As Harry shifted, stretching his stiff muscles, Ron gave a grunting snore and jerked awake. "Hmm? Oh." He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Madam Pomfrey said you wouldn't be up for a few more hours."

Harry just lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug.

"Still?"

He nodded.

Ron gave him a sympathetic look and, without prompting, stood to get him a glass of water from the pitcher. "Can you sit up?"

It took a few tries, but Harry finally managed to do so, leaning back against the headboard. Ron handed Harry the glass and, this time, he managed to drink it on his own. While he did so, he let his mind work slowly, carefully, until he had finally formulated a complete thought. Then, he spoke. "Where's Hermione?"

Ron did not quite meet his eye. "She went to meet Aberforth," he said shortly, "to get Malfoy."

"W..." Pain exploded in Harry's head, and his fingers jerked so violently the glass tipped, spilling the last inch of water into his lap. He hardly noticed as he doubled over and retched. He had lost all contact with his body now, feeling nothing but the agony in his skull.

"_Madam Pomfrey!_" Ron's voice yelled and, distantly, Harry heard a pounding of footsteps, but it wasn't important anymore.

"Hold him down!" Meaningless sounds, clumsy hands prying his mouth open. His throat froze, then burned. This time, the pain did not ease so much as drop off completely as he plummeted back into darkness.

-

Harry barely had the motivation to fight his way out of the depths this time. This was getting very old. Frustration did not even begin to describe what he felt. Unfortunately, his current condition kept him from thinking of a better word, leading him to feel it even more.

There was only one thing he knew. Something was wrong with him. Something that Madam Pomfrey could not fix and that was not going to fix itself. And that scared him. He could not imagine living this way for another moment, much less the rest of his life.

Voices whispered around him. He tried to pull away from them, but a wave too strong to fight carried him up to the surface.

"...wants us to send him back."

"Maybe we should. He's not getting any better here."

"We should probably wait for—Harry?" Ron leaned forward in his chair when Harry's eyes fluttered open.

Hermione, who seemed to have been pacing the room, stopped at the foot of his bed. "You're awake."

Harry made no attempt at a reply. Instead, he threw his efforts into sitting up. Ron started to stand, but Harry waved him away. He was tired of people trying to help him.

Hermione gave Harry his glasses and then retrieved a nutritive potion from the table, holding it out. "Madam Pomfrey said to give you this. After your episode last night, she decided food should wait another day."

Harry took the potion but made no move to drink it, staring down at the vial. Her words had given a boost to his memory of the previous night. "Did..." He stopped and furrowed his brow, trying to keep the balance between losing his train of thought and getting a migraine from focusing too hard. "Is...M...Malfoy..."

"It's all taken care of," Hermione said. "Aberforth met me last night to hand him over. I set up the Room of Requirement for him. The door's rigged up so only the three of us can see or open it."

"Is...is..." Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as the pressure began to build, and he struggled to clear his mind again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron glance away, looking troubled, which did not help.

Hermione gave him a pitying look. "Drink," she said, nodding at the potion. "You have to keep your strength up."

Anger jumped to the forefront of Harry's brain, and he wanted nothing more than to throw the potion across the room. He managed to rein in the urge, though he received a stabbing pain for his trouble. To resolve the issue, he brought the vial to his lips and downed the potion in one go. He leaned back against the headboard again, breathing deeply.

Meanwhile, Hermione exchanged a quick look with Ron, who nodded and spoke hesitantly. "McGonagall contacted Mum while you were out. She wants us to send you back to Grimmauld Place."

"She can't make you go back," Hermione added. "Short of expelling you, McGonagall can't either. But...well, if you want to go, we won't stop you."

"No." This answer came to Harry at once. He had gone through Hell to get here. He was not about to throw it all away.

Hermione hesitated. "Harry, this is really serious. If Madam Pomfrey can't fix it—"

"I know!" Harry burst out, glaring. He was tired of holding back, not just because of the migraines. When all he received were further looks of pity, he let his impulses take over and kicked his legs over the side of the bed.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What're you doing?"

"Walking," he said shortly, bracing his hands on the bedside table and pushing himself up. His legs shook violently, knees refusing to unbend. When Hermione moved forward to help him, he jerked his arm from her grasp and slowly started forward, carefully shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He seemed to have located another short-circuit in his brain, however. He wobbled dangerously, feet turning every which way, arms straining to keep him upright.

Hermione took one stride forward and caught him by the elbow when he stumbled, holding on tight when he tried to pull away again. "You're not going anywhere," she said firmly. "You can't even stand."

She was right, and Harry knew it. His shoulders slumped, and he allowed himself to be led back to the bed where he collapsed on his side, his back turned to the others. A hand touched his shoulder, but he shook it off.

"If you want to be alone, then. Ron?" Hermione's voice changed on the name, adding a silent request to talk privately.

"Yeah," Ron said. "We'll be back in the morning." Their footsteps echoed through the wing, and a moment later, the door swung shut with a hollow bang.

Harry rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, sighing. He stopped trying to pry thoughts from the fog, and, slowly, his pain began to lessen. It was much easier in the silence with nothing to distract him. If he kept himself unfocused enough, he could even imagine that this was all a dream. Never mind that he had not had a proper night of sleep in days. Sedatives might calm his mind, but the rest he had gotten from them felt artificial.

Yet, he could not let himself sleep. The last time he really slept, he had woken up like this. Who knew what would happen the next time?

Harry lost all sense of time as he lay there. After a while, he heard the door creak open, but he kept his eyes shut, thinking that it was Hermione and Ron back again. But then, he felt a hand gently shake his shoulder. "Time for your potions, Mr. Potter."

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes and allowed Madam Pomfrey to help him sit up. The sun had set by now, casting the whole room in shadow. Madam Pomfrey placed the two familiar potions in his hand. "You know how this works. I need to have a word with Professor McGonagall, but I'll be back to check on you before morning." She did not wait for a reply, turning to leave.

When she had gone, Harry uncorked the nutritive potion and choked it down, used to the gritty, muddy taste by now. He sat staring at the other potion for a long time, however. During his rest, a few thoughts had managed to drift into his mind, and an even smaller number clung to his consciousness. Through them, an idea had formed. Granted, Harry did not know if it would work or even if he would be able to pull it off in his condition. He had a notion that it was probably a long shot, especially since he was not able to think about it beyond the basics.

Nevertheless, he set the potion on the table and took a deep, steadying breath. "Dobby?" he said in a low voice, paranoid in spite of being alone.

A loud crack sounded and the house-elf appeared a few feet from the bed, wearing his over-sized Weasley sweater, towering stack of hats, and thick layers of socks. "Harry Potter!" he squeaked. "Dobby is glad you're awake!"

"Shh." Harry made shushing motions with his hands. "Dobby, I n...need." He pressed his fingers against the spot halfway between his eyes, shaking his head.

The elf nodded rapidly. "Dobby's heard about Harry Potter's problems. He'll do whatever you say."

Harry dropped his hand. This did make things a bit easier. "Follow me," he said as he maneuvered to plant his feet on the floor again. "If...if I fall, go...go find..."

"Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry nodded.

Dobby bobbed his head again. "Dobby will do it, sir."

"Thanks." Harry took a deep breath, grabbed hold of the table, and pulled himself up. His legs shook, threatening to collapse, but he pressed on. He took one step. Then two. He stumbled, barely catching himself on the headboard of the next bed over.

"Dobby has permission to use magic, sir," Dobby said. "He can take you where you need to go."

Harry glanced back at the elf, wishing why he had not thought of that before. "The Room...Requirement," he said.

Dobby nodded and stepped forward, grabbing Harry's sleeve. Harry felt a familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube and suddenly he was standing in the middle of the dark, empty hallway in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. With nothing to hold on to, Harry's legs went out from under him, and he sat down hard.

"Dobby's sorry."

"It's...fine." Harry used his arms to pull himself over to the wall and braced his hand against it, pulling himself up. He stared at the door across the hallway, trying to gauge whether he could make it.

"What type of room does Harry Potter want? Dobby can make it for you."

Harry turned his eyes on the elf, uncomprehending. Then, he remembered Hermione saying that only the three of them could see the door. "No," he said. He took another deep breath to steady himself and pushed off from the wall. He made it about midway across the hall before he stumbled. Propelling himself forward the last few feet, he managed to catch the doorknob and held on tight, pulling himself up.

"How...?" Dobby trailed off when Harry pushed the door open. Inside, he found a small bedroom, set up with a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk. Another door across the room was open, revealing a bathroom. Malfoy, who had been sitting on the edge of the bed, stood when Harry entered. He looked as though he had not slept since leaving Grimmauld Place, deep black circles framing his eyes, making his cheeks look even more hollow than they already were.

A loud squeak made Harry look around. "Dobby!" he said. "Don't!"

The elf, who had started to run off, stopped, turning his wide eyes on Harry. "Harry Potter knew he was here?"

Pain had started to build in Harry's brain again. He pressed his fingers against his forehead. "I'll...explain later. You...you can go. Don't...tell anyone."

Dobby hesitated, wringing his hands. "Is Harry Potter sure?"

Harry nodded again. "Go." Once Dobby had done just that, he turned away.

"What's with the elf?" Malfoy asked.

"N...nothing." Harry was starting to feel a bit queasy, his vision blurring as he stepped into the room. He tried to grab hold of the desk, missed, and fell to his knees.

Malfoy moved to shut the door. "Break into the Firewhisky, did you?" He grabbed Harry by the arm, pulling him up. "Sit down, Potter. You're heavier than you look."

Harry collapsed into the desk chair, clutching the back of it as the room spun around him. He had a vague notion of why he was here, but his mind would not cooperate with him. He tried to speak, but the words were so jumbled he could not tell which ones needed to be said.

Malfoy's mildly amused expression disappeared, replaced by one that almost approached concern. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"I..." he managed to draw out in a thick voice, "...help..."

"You're going to have to be more specific that that," Malfoy said. "Did you fall on your head or something?"

"My head...can't..." Harry clutched his head, groaning as a bolt of pain shot down the center of his skull.

Malfoy sighed. "Quit babbling." He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him over to the bed. Once Harry was lying down, he grabbed the desk chair and sat, pressing his hands against the sides of Harry's head. "Hold still. If the answer's in here, I'll find it."

Harry tried to calm down. He tried to relax his muscles, but it was no use. The pain was too much. It was all he could think about. He could barely feel his arms or legs anymore, and his vision was starting to go dark around the edges.

Far away, he felt Malfoy's hands grip his upper arms, his face leaning in closer.. "I know it hurts, but you need to focus on me. This will go a lot faster if you're conscious."

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, and shifted his head back slightly. Malfoy's face was so close now Harry's eyes almost crossed. Nevertheless, he made himself look. Malfoy's eyes were wide open, staring down at him unblinkingly. The pain receded a bit and with it, the tension eased as well. When Harry's vision started to go dark again, he could not tell if he was losing consciousness or sinking down the tunnel. He was not sure he cared.

A flashing light blinded Harry, and he jerked to one side. His back slammed into something hard and he groaned, sliding down to sit. The ground underneath him felt soft and slightly damp. He saw another, dimmer flash and glanced up. All he could see was a gray fog—or maybe clouds—filling the space above him, blocking out everything. As he watched, a section of the clouds lit up, as though with lightning.

"You've got quite an imagination, Potter," Malfoy's voice echoed from the darkness. As Harry squinted, lightning flashed again and he briefly saw a silhouette through the dense fog. Then, he heard Malfoy make a disgusted noise. "Maybe a little too good."

"W..." A bolt cut through the air again, striking somewhere a few feet above Harry's head. As his heart leapt into his chest, he felt the ground begin to shake beneath him. Sparks leapt from the walls, some crossing over to the other side, others arching back on themselves.

He heard a yell and a low thud. "Quit thinking, Potter! You're going to get us killed!"

This made no sense to Harry. He had no idea what was going on. All he knew was his migraine was coming back. Meanwhile, the situation around him seemed to be getting worse, the walls shaking and spitting out sparks so frequently the darkness was hardly a factor anymore.

"Damn it!" Something slammed into Harry, knocking him onto his side. The lightning lit up Malfoy's face as he rolled Harry over onto his back, straddling him and pinning his arms down. "Focus, Potter," he said, emphasizing every word. "This is _your_head. Your thoughts are making this happen. _Calm down!_"

It took a long time for the words to break through Harry's mind, and even longer for them to make sense. Fighting the urge to struggle out of Malfoy's grasp, he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the trembling ground and the flashes of light behind his eyelids. Instead, he focused on breathing deeply.

Finally, the ground stopped shaking, and the lightning flashes became fewer and further between. The pressure holding Harry down lifted, and he sat up, opening his eyes on the darkness.

"Don't try to talk again," Malfoy advised from somewhere above him. Another flash lit the sky, illuminating him briefly. "Just listen. I drew this construct from your memory so I could figure out what's wrong. I need you to cooperate with me and keep your head clear."

Harry only understood about half of what Malfoy said, but he made the decision not to care. The lightning had calmed down to random bursts again, for which he was very grateful.

After a few moments, Malfoy spoke again. "Good."

The air lit up. At first, Harry thought it was more lightning, but it did not fade away. As his eyes adjusted, he saw Malfoy standing a few feet away, holding a lantern. Harry furrowed his brow at it, and another bolt of lightning lanced the sky.

Malfoy held the lantern up to one of the walls, lighting up an intricate patterning of gray tissue interlaced with veins of blue and red. Malfoy pressed the back of his hand over his mouth, looking ill. He moved the lantern around and paused it when he came to a part of the wall that was darker than the rest, as though it had been burned.

Harry could not say exactly what Malfoy did next or why. More precisely, he was too afraid to think too hard about it. So, he just watched as Malfoy gently prodded the spot of the wall, placing his hand flat against it and closing his eyes for a moment. He frowned, withdrew his hand, and lifted the lantern again, turning his gaze upward. "I think I can fix this," he said softly, seeming to talk more to himself than Harry.

Then, Malfoy jerked his hand once, and the lantern vanished, plunging them back into darkness punctuated by flashes of lightning. "This might hurt," he said as he backed away from the wall, "or it might not. I've never done this before, so I wouldn't know. But whatever happens, whatever you see, stay calm. This will be hard enough; I don't need to get struck by lightning." Without so much as a second glance in Harry's direction, he took a deep breath, crouched down, and punched his fists into the ground, burying his arms nearly to the elbow.

The pain was excruciating but over in an instant, replaced by a feeling of intense euphoria. At the same time, his vision started to blur, colors running together. He was floating. His nerves were alight, his skin tingling, almost burning. He would have writhed, but his muscles had turned to liquid, flowing freely around veins that pulsed with white hot blood.

Meanwhile, the colors had begun to change. At moments, they seemed to form pictures, but they disappeared too fast for him to catch what they were. Voices whispered all around him, too low to understand. He let his head drift to one side and saw a shimmering lattice of silvery threads underneath him. As he watched, more threads wove into the spaces until, in a stunning moment of clarity, he realized that the ground was getting further away. The treads were slowly lifting him up; towards what, he did not know.

Harry could not say how long it lasted. It might have been hours, days, or mere moments. All he knew was when the feeling started to ebb away, he clung to it desperately, not ready for it to end.

"Potter," a voice whispered from far away. Harry shrunk away from it. "What the hell are you doing?" Hands gripped his shoulders so tightly it felt as though his bones were being crushed and yanked him upward. Pain erupted in every inch of his body, the colors in his vision blurring and transforming into a blinding white light. Roaring filled his ears as the voices started shouting, still unintelligible. He squeezed his eyes shut, praying for it to stop.

And it did. His muscles continued to ache, but not as badly. He felt something soft underneath him, and, for a moment, he thought maybe he had fallen back through the threads. Then, he heard a groan from above him. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and squinted through the dim light. Malfoy sat slumped in his chair with his palms pressed his forehead, taking deep breaths. Harry stared, his brain working to figure out what had just happened.

Then, he realized what he was doing. He was thinking, and there was no pain. The rift in his mind was gone. "What..." he said in a hoarse voice. "...what did you do?"

Malfoy shook his head once. "Too complicated," he mumbled. He made to stand up, and his legs went out from under him. He tried to grab a fistful of the bedsheets but fell anyway, taking the chair down with him.

Harry's heart slammed into his throat, and he sat up, twisting around, ignoring his muscles' screams of protest. "Are you—?"

"Side-effect," Malfoy said in a slightly slurred voice, dragging himself a few feet so he could lean against the wall. "It'll wear off."

Harry let out the breath he had been holding in, but something was still nagging in his mind. "You helped me," he said.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "No shit, Potter."

"Why?"

He was silent for so long, Harry thought maybe he had not heard. Then, finally, he spoke. "Self preservation."

Harry rolled his eyes, glancing away. Of course. He should have figured it out. What other reason could there be?

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Malfoy asked. "I know you're the only reason I'm here. Even if I didn't before, Granger made it perfectly clear."

Harry had no reply to that, so he searched for something else to say. "How did it go?" he asked finally.

Malfoy shrugged. "Questions...yelling...locked in a room for three days. Felt normal, really."

Harry breathed another sigh of relief. Snape had not used Legilimency or Veritaserum. For the first time in days, he felt at ease.

"So, who was it?"

Four simple words brought him crashing back. "What?"

"Who was in your head? I'll bet it was Granger. She always sticks her nose where it doesn't belong."

"What?" Harry repeated.

"Well, obviously somebody was in there. Aside from the obvious, things were moved all out of place. From what I could see, they went in, got stuck, and had to fight their way back out. Damn near put you out of your misery, too."

But Harry was not listening anymore. He recalled sitting in the chair in the common room when the pain started. Everything after that was a blur, but one thing stood out crystal clear. Just as his brain ripped apart, he had felt that distant, yet unmistakable twinge in his scar.

He shuddered. Voldemort was in his head. Not just performing Legilimency, but actually inside his brain.

The question was why? Voldemort had to know that it was risky. And it had to be for something that he could not get through regular Legilimency. Harry racked his brain to think of what it could be, but he did not know enough about mental projection to figure it out.

The door swung open suddenly, and Hermione stood on the other side. Harry leapt to his feet at once, surprised at how easy the movement was.

Hermione looked even more shocked. Then, she glanced back down the hallway. "Ron! He's here!" She hurried forward and seized Harry by the arms, as though to make sure he was real. "You're...are you...?"

Harry gave her a small smile. "Yeah."

Her face broke into a grin, and she threw her arms around him. Harry stiffened, but returned the hug after a moment. His attention was on the doorway again, however, where Ron had appeared. His eyes were narrowed at something, or rather, someone else out of Harry's field of vision.

When Hermione pulled back from Harry, she did not seem to notice the tension. "You should've told Madam Pomfrey you were leaving. You scared us."

"I'm sorry. I guess I just lost track of time." Harry could not stand Ron's staring any longer. He glanced back at Malfoy.

Malfoy turned his cool gaze on Harry. "Don't mind me," was all he said. He braced a hand against the wall and slowly pushed himself to his feet. He made his way toward the bathroom with even steps, betraying no weakness. Though he did not slam the door, the noise still echoed in the silence.

When Harry turned back to Hermione, she was staring at the spot where Malfoy had disappeared. After a few moments, she looked at Harry again, her expression briefly exasperated before reforming into a smile. "Madam Pomfrey's out looking for you, too. We'd better go find her before she has an aneurysm."

Harry felt a slight reluctance to leave, though he could not put his finger on why. Continued suspicious looks from Ron made him go along, however. He did not even complain when Hermione held onto his arm just in case he should happen to stumble.

-

Though Madam Pomfrey admitted that Harry seemed fully cured, she was reluctant to pronounce him so. Finally though, after pushing half a dozen vials of Strengthening Potion into his hands, she decided that he could go. "But the moment you start to feel an attack coming on, I want you right back here," she said.

"We'll make sure of it," Hermione said.

By the time they left the hospital wing, it was nearly nine o'clock in the morning. Harry could not believe that he had been gone for so long, that it had taken Malfoy so many hours to repair the damage done to his mind. What was even more unbelievable was that Malfoy had done it. He had taken the time and the energy. Of course, Harry knew that there was nothing to it. If he had stayed that way, there was a very strong chance that Hermione would have sent Malfoy back to Snape and Aberforth. Just as he said, it was self preservation.

Still, he could not rid himself of that image of Malfoy falling to the ground.

As they neared the Great Hall, where a few muffled voices issued from behind the closed doors, Hermione slowed. "We can get breakfast from the kitchens," she said, "if you're not ready."

Harry was ready. As ready as he would ever be to face the professors, anyway. The mention of the kitchens brought back a fragment of memory of what had happened the previous night, however, and he nodded. "Yeah."

"Two of us can probably carry it if you want to just go upstairs."

"No," Harry said at once.

Hermione looked at him with worry but did not argue. They moved away from the Great Hall and headed downstairs to the painting of the bowl of fruit. "Are you sure?" she asked finally.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "They're house-elves. I think I can manage."

So, Hermione tickled the pear, causing it to turn into a doorknob, and opened the door.

Harry had a brief view of the bustling kitchen, house-elves running around everywhere with stacks of dishes as tall as they were, before he heard an almighty clatter and felt something ram into his legs so hard he nearly fell backwards into Ron. He looked down to see Dobby hugging his legs. "Is Harry Potter all right?"

"I'm fine," Harry said, trying to pry the elf off of him. He could feel Ron and Hermione watching him and wished Dobby would stop making a scene.

Dobby let go and stared up at him with wide eyes. "Dobby was so worried. He didn't want to leave Harry Potter w..." He bit his lip suddenly and fidgeted, glancing at the other two, who quickly turned toward the other elves to start asking for food.

Harry sighed. "It's okay. They know."

Dobby's head snapped back so fast his ears flapped and the pile of hats on his head swayed dangerously. "Dobby didn't tell anyone."

"I know. Thanks."

"But...he wants to know why."

Harry hesitated. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione pause in mid-speech as she and Ron glanced at him with the same curiosity. "It's complicated," he said in a low voice.

Dobby still looked troubled. "Dobby won't say anything, but if Professor McGonagall asks, he can't lie to her."

"I know," Harry said again, not even wanting to think about that possibility. There was nothing he could do about it, so all he could do was deal with it if and when it happened.

This seemed to calm Dobby down for the most part. "Is there anything else Dobby can do?"

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione spoke first. "Harry?"

He turned to see that she and Ron were ready to leave, carrying plates of food. "You go on ahead," he said. "I'll be a minute."

She hesitated, but nodded and moved toward the door. Ron paused for longer, staring at Harry with an unreadable expression, but finally he followed after her.

Harry waited until they were gone before turning back to Dobby. "There is something."

"Yes?"

"I need someone to bring food to him."

Dobby wavered, wringing his hands. "Dobby can't see the door..."

"I'll modify the room so you can." The elf still looked apprehensive, so Harry continued. "Just bring him some of whatever food's being sent up to the Great Hall. And make sure you bring enough. We're not trying to starve him. Please," he added.

Dobby gazed up at him and bobbed his head once. "Dobby will do it, but...he still doesn't understand."

"I know. Listen, if he tries to start anything, tell me. And be careful."

"Dobby will."

When Harry left the kitchen, he was surprised to see Ron standing there. The plates were gone, and he had his arms crossed over his chest. "What're you doing here?" Harry asked.

"Hermione thought someone should walk with you. Just in case. She went ahead with the food."

"Right." There was something else; he knew it. So, he waited.

"She's going to figure it out eventually," Ron said after a moment. When Harry started to walk away, he spoke again. "I'm telling you this as a friend. The only reason she's not asking questions is because she's just glad you're better."

Against his better judgment, Harry stopped and turned back. "What the hell do you want me to say?"

"I want you to quit asking me that for starters."

"Then give me a straight answer." There was no reply, so he turned away again.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked.

"For a walk."

"Hermione's waiting for us."

"Tell her I'm not hungry."

Ron hurried to catch up to him. "I'm not letting you go off alone."

"You're 'not letting' me? I'm not an invalid."

"Twenty-four hours ago you could barely stand!"

"And now I can."

Ron stopped. "Harry!"

Harry stopped briefly, clenching his fists. "I'm tired of people treating me like I'm made of glass," he muttered so quietly he was not even sure if Ron would hear him.

He must have, however, because this time, when Harry walked away, he did not follow.

-

"You want me to what?" Malfoy sat leaning against the wall, eyes narrowed up at Harry.

"You just have to leave the room for a bit. Just long enough for me to adjust the wards on the door."

"Brilliant plan, Potter. And what are you going to do when someone sees me?"

"I've checked the whole floor. There's no one around. Would you rather starve?"

Malfoy glared. Then, he rolled his eyes. "Fine." He braced one hand against the wall and slowly got to his feet, legs shaking as he started forward.

Harry turned away and pulled the door open, glancing up and down the corridor. It was deserted. He waved Malfoy ahead and, as soon as he was out, shut the door. He then began to walk back and forth in front of it at a brisk pace, concentrating. He wanted the same room back. He just wanted the door modified slightly.

His three passes finished, Harry stopped and stared at the door, which looked exactly the same.

"How do we know if it worked?" Malfoy said, glancing around as though expecting someone to walk around the corner at any moment.

"Only one way. Dobby!"

With a loud crack, Dobby appeared. He spared only the briefest glance for Malfoy before turning his full attention on Harry. "Dobby has to get back to the kitchens."

"I know," Harry said. "I just need to know if you can see and open the door now."

Dobby looked around and walked over to the door, reaching up to grip the doorknob. He easily twisted it and pushed the door open.

"That's good," Harry said. "You can go."

Dobby bowed and disappeared at once.

Malfoy moved back into the room as fast as his wavering legs would carry him. Once inside, he turned back, but if he had intended to say anything, Harry shut the door before he could.

-

A hand lighted on Harry's shoulder. "We've been looking for you."

Harry did not reply. He was sitting in a dark corner of the library, his back turned to the door, staring down at an open book. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there, but he knew he had not turned a page in a while.

Hermione sat in the chair next to him, glancing at the book. "'Mind melding?'" she said in a whisper.

"It's nothing," Harry said, shutting it. "Just looking something up."

She looked up at him. "I know you and Ron are having problems, but you shouldn't have run off like that. What if you had a relapse?"

"I didn't," he said simply, "and I won't."

"You can't know that. We don't even know how...how you're better." Before Harry could stop her, she reached forward and turned the book toward her. "'Mental projection?'" A look of realization dawned on her face. "Of course. That's how he... But why?"

Harry shrugged.

"You don't think Voldemort damaged your mind intentionally, do you?"

He shook his head. "He got stuck when I woke up. He had to force his way out."

"Oh." She shifted uncomfortably. Then, she furrowed her brow. "But how—?"

"We should go," Harry interrupted and stood, picking up the book. He wanted to take it with him, but he knew that would make her suspicious. So, he reluctantly put it back on the shelf and started for the door. After a few moments, he heard her footsteps behind him.

It was evening now, so they headed to the Great Hall. Just as it had been during the Christmas holidays of their third year, there was only one table, and only professors sat at it this time. When Harry and Hermione entered, all eyes turned on them, watching as they approached.

Professor McGonagall, who had frozen with her goblet halfway to her mouth, lowered it without drinking. "Good afternoon," she said. "I see you're feeling better."

"Yeah." Harry sat next to Hermione, using her as a buffer between himself and the professors. As he helped himself to some chicken, he could still feel their stares.

After a few minutes, conversations started again. Flitwick had a brief talk with McGonagall about the number of second year students returning. ("Only a handful, I'm afraid," she said.) Professor Sinistra had a one-sided conversation with a rather apathetic Professor Vector about possible locations to conduct her Astronomy lessons. ("Maybe on the grounds somewhere," she said. "There's a nice clearing near Hagrid's hut.")

"Where is Hagrid?" Hermione spoke up suddenly.

Harry dropped his fork, but nobody seemed to bat an eye for his apparent clumsiness. He could not believe he had not noticed Hagrid's absence.

"He's on assignment," McGonagall said, glancing briefly at Harry. "I sent him an owl as soon as I knew you were coming back early. He should be here in a few days."

Harry wanted to ask what the assignment was and, judging by the expression on Hermione's face, so did she. Both noted the quick glance McGonagall exchanged with Sprout, however, and knew it would be no use.

Ron arrived half an hour after Harry and Hermione. He only blinked at them before sitting down across from Hermione, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his plate as he loaded it with roast potatoes.

"Are you going to offer Potions this year, Professor Slughorn?" Hermione asked, as though desperate to fill the silence.

Slughorn, who had sat so silent up until this point that Harry had hardly noticed he was there, looked slightly shocked that someone was addressing him. "If anyone wants the class," he answered. He looked hopefully at Harry. "Will you be there, Harry?"

Harry wavered again. "Um...I dunno," he said evasively. "I hadn't thought about it yet."

"If you decide what classes you want to take early, you may be able to get a jump start on lessons," Flitwick said. "Without as many students, we may be able to vary the lesson plans a bit. Custom build them to fit the student."

"How many people are coming back?" Hermione asked.

"A few dozen, as of this morning," Professor McGonagall said, "mostly first years." She turned to Sprout. "Pomona, you'll be pleased to know, I received an owl from Mrs. Longbottom this morning. Neville will be arriving in two days."

"Is anyone else from our year coming back?" Hermione said.

"Not yet. Some have sent owls that they're not coming back, including Miss Patil, Miss Brown, and Mr. Finnegan."

Conversation tapered off again, giving Harry a chance to think this over. The news that Parvati was not coming back did not surprise him in the least, since she had left for India. The other two did make him pause, however, especially Seamus. He also wondered about those who had not answered their owls yet. How many of them would decide not to come back? More importantly, how many would not send owls at all? Harry recalled the shock he had felt when he learned at the Carrows' trial that Ernie Macmillan was dead. How many more people had died without them knowing?

After Ron cleared his plate, he stood and wordlessly walked toward the door.

"Ron?" Hermione called after him. When he did not give any sign of hearing, she turned to Harry. "Will you be all right?" she asked.

Harry just narrowed his eyes. She seemed to take this as affirmation, muttered a quick apology to everyone, and hurried after Ron.

Harry waited for only moments after the door closed before getting up. He could feel the tension rising as he stood, but to his great relief, no one said anything or offered help. Since he had no idea which direction the other two had gone, he paused in the corridor, considering his options. Deciding that they were probably not outside, he decided to go to the courtyard.

Luck was not on his side. Only halfway down the hall, he heard muffled voices coming from a door that was open a crack. Instinct told him to turn back, but curiosity won out, and he stayed put, listening.

"...something else going on," Hermione's voice said. A shadow passed the door, and then again, as though someone was pacing the room very quickly. "He couldn't possibly have gotten better this fast."

"Apparently he did," Ron answered.

"Did he? I'm not so sure. He's been acting so strangely."

"Seems the same to me."

The shadow drifted over the doorway again and paused. "How can you even say that? After everything he's been through—"

"I'm just saying, I think you're worrying too much."

"Well, somebody has to!"

"Maybe he's acting like this because he's tired of you asking how he is every five seconds."

"Oh, really? So I should just ignore him like you do?"

Harry had stepped forward without realizing. Through the crack, he could see Hermione standing with her back to the door.

"You know him so much better than I do?" Ron asked. "Enlighten me."

Hermione stiffened briefly, then her shoulders slumped, and she turned away. As her gaze drifted to the door, she froze.

Harry's heart leapt into his throat, and he pulled his head away from the door, though he had been sure that he was hidden.

"What?" Ron asked.

"I thought I saw something."

Harry did not wait for the response. He hurried away as quickly as he could while keeping his footsteps quiet. Thoughts of going out to the courtyard were gone. He had lost his desire to go outside anyway. Instead, he headed up to Gryffindor Tower. By the time he arrived in the common room, his exhaustion had caught up with him, so he trudged up the stairs to the dormitory. Once there, he made a beeline for his bed and collapsed onto it, asleep before his head even hit the pillow.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please read and review. Next chapter: Disturbing dreams, late night visits, and feelings that terrify. Is something still broken inside Harry, or is there something else at work? If you liked this chapter, I think you'll love the next one.


	31. Chapter 31: True Terror

Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed. Before I get to the pre-chapter notes, I have another note that has to do with the story in general. I admit, even though it seems that the damage has been reversed, the recent deletion of hyphens from stories unnerved me. I just thought I should let you all know that, should the formatting of this story get messed up or, heaven forbid, if the story should get reported, never fear. The story is still intact over on FictionAlley under the author name Melissa Potter. If this should happen, I'll try to put a note in my profile as soon as possible, but I thought it would be a good idea to put this out there now, just in case.

This chapter took a while due to homework and difficulty in wording certain scenes. This is another one of those chapters where some things are implied rather than said outright. I would also classify this as another disturbing chapter, especially if one recognizes the full implications of what's happening. I got shivers while I was editing it. As always, feel free to ask if anything is unclear. I'll answer unless doing so would reveal a spoiler. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 31: True Terror

Feeling returned to Harry's fingers first. He was intensely aware of the way they were positioned, braced against the bed as though he were afraid of falling. The rest of his body was still caught in limbo. Hot blood pounded through veins under nerves that felt raw and exposed. He felt as though he were standing on the edge of a cliff, itching to jump but unable to move. Meanwhile, colors swirled under his eyelids, blending and separating from each other, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Then, slowly, his muscles began to knit themselves back together, starting at his extremities and slowly working their way up. He fought it, tensed up, squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Every inch of feeling that returned was agony. In the back of his mind, he knew he was just making it worse, but he did not want to wake up. He was being pulled away from the cliff when he wanted so desperately to jump off it.

When the colors began to dim, Harry resigned himself to the inevitable. Just as the feeling returned to his shoulders, he opened his eyes on darkness.

It took him a moment to remember that he was in the dormitory and another to remember why. Once his eyes adjusted, he turned his head and saw Ron lying in his bed across the room, his back turned to Harry.

Harry needed to move. He could not take lying still for another moment. The pain had almost gone now, so he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, still marveling at the ease of the movement. He looked around to make sure Ron was still sleeping and then turned to his trunk.

The Invisibility Cloak lay on top, folded neatly; however, Harry's eyes glanced over it, lighting instead on the thing next to it: the shrunken cabinet with the Pensieve inside. He moved over to it, running his fingers along the edge. Hermione must have decided to give it to him when she brought the cloak back. He supposed it made sense. After all, Harry no longer had to worry about Malfoy getting into it. He looked away, his hand moving to grab the cloak. With one final glance at Ron, he pulled the cloak on.

Harry did not even realize where he was going until he arrived outside the door. To be honest, he had not even expected to make it that far without seeing anyone, especially after Professor McGonagall had made such a point of warning them about the guards. He stared at the door, wondering what he was doing there. He had just gotten rid of his migraines; he did not need to be inducing more of them. Still, even as these thoughts went through his mind, his hand reached for the doorknob.

The room was pitch black, even more so than the hallways. As Harry stepped inside and pulled the cloak off, he heard shuffling. Quickly shutting the door, he lit his wand, holding it up.

Malfoy stood leaning against the wall, his face white as a sheet and breathing slightly erratic.

"What's the matter with you?" Harry asked, trying not to sound overly concerned.

"At the moment? You." Malfoy tried to push off from the wall, turning toward the bathroom, but promptly collapsed against it again, gritting his teeth.

Harry cringed in spite of himself. "I thought you said it was temporary."

"Are you here for a reason, Potter? If so, get to it. I have things to do."

It felt wrong to leave it there, but the question had triggered something in Harry's mind. He realized now why he was there. "I want to know what the hell you did to me," he said.

Malfoy blinked, furrowing his brow. "What?"

"You did something to my head."

"Oh, well deduced, Potter. I repaired your mind by doing something to your head."

Harry's fists curled, his teeth grinding, but he could not bring himself to talk about what he had felt while Malfoy was repairing his mind and again when he was waking up that morning. The colors, soaring sensation, hot blood pounding in his veins...it was too much to say out loud at all, much less to Malfoy.

Malfoy just watched him for a moment before simply turning away.

The movement caught Harry's attention. His anger swelled and he closed the space between them, planting a hand firmly against the wall to block Malfoy's way. "You're not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what you did."

Malfoy turned his gaze on Harry again, staring directly into his eyes. Harry glared back, waiting.

Finally, Malfoy shook his head. "Whatever's misfiring in there, it's all you. There's nothing wrong with your head."

Harry did not move. "I don't believe you."

"Not my problem." Malfoy tried to duck under Harry's arm and lost his balance.

Harry caught him by the shoulders instinctively. When he realized what he was doing, he let go at once and stumbled backwards several steps, leaving Malfoy to regain his footing on his own.

In spite of his pitiful condition, Malfoy looked up at Harry, the corners of his lips twitching. "Well, well, well. Look where we are again."

Harry felt another surge of anger. "Shut up."

Malfoy's smirk just widened. "Come off it. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"No, I haven't," Harry said, "and it's not happening again."

Malfoy just rolled his eyes. "Relax, Potter. I told you, I have things to do." He braced his hands against the wall again and slowly slid down to sit on the floor. He then lay down beside the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

"What are you doing?"

"Repairs," Malfoy muttered. "Shh."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but did not speak again, moving to sit on the bed. As he watched, Malfoy's breathing began to slow, as though he were falling asleep. His eyes remained open, however, rolling back into his head until all that was visible were the whites.

Ten minutes pasted. Then thirty. An hour later, Malfoy had not budged an inch. Harry lay back on the bed, sighing. Well, he had gotten his wish. He was alone. Or close enough to it. Unless Ron woke up and saw that he was missing, no one would come looking for him for hours. In fact, even if Ron did wake up, Harry doubted he would come looking for him. He would probably just assume the worst.

His mind drifted back to the conversation he had overheard. He could not believe that, after everything Ron had said about Hermione figuring things out sooner or later, he still had not told her. In fact, he had seemed to steer the conversation away from the topic.

At the same time, however, Harry remembered Hermione's words: "After everything he's been through—" As grateful as he was that Ron had stayed quiet, he could see the tension growing on Hermione's side as well. There was no question now that Ginny had confided her suspicions in her. To Harry's great relief, Hermione did not have enough pieces of the puzzle to put it together, but she was far too close for comfort. If she should confide in Ron, or vice versa, Harry could not even dare to hope that they would not figure it out.

Harry heard a creaking sound and sat up, squinting. Malfoy was gone from the spot on the floor, and the bathroom door was shut. After a few minutes, it opened, and Malfoy stood on the other side, one hand resting against the door frame. They stared at each other for a while. Then, finally, Malfoy dropped his arm and stepped out, unwavering.

"Is that it, then?" Harry said.

Malfoy nodded silently, leaning against the wall. He still looked tired.

"What happened anyway?" Harry could not figure it out. How had Malfoy acquired his problems with walking but not talking?

"You fought," Malfoy said in a dull voice. "I couldn't pull you back without undoing my work. So I jumped you into my mind and pushed you out instead."

"And damaged your mind." This unsettled Harry, though he could not quite put his finger on the reason. "Why?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Seemed easier. It's not like I'd fight myself."

"Why did it take so long to repair your mind, then?"

"Well, I did sleep some. You kept me up all night. Now, if you're quite done..." He sat on the floor and lay down again, shutting his eyes.

Harry stood. "I'm not staying."

Malfoy squinted up at him. "I know."

Harry opened his mouth to ask why Malfoy was still sleeping on the floor, but the words did not quite make it out. Instead, he just stared. Then, he reached toward the bed again, grabbing a pillow and lightly tossing it in Malfoy's direction. It landed beside him. Malfoy blinked at it for a moment before pulling it towards him and tucking it under his head.

Harry forced himself to look away, reaching for the Invisibility Cloak.

-

Hermione was the one who found him in the courtyard. Harry had made no attempt to hide, but it was still late morning before he felt the hand on his shoulder. "You have to stop doing this."

Harry blinked and looked up at her but said nothing.

She frowned and walked around the bench to sit beside him. "You don't look well. Have you even eaten breakfast?"

Harry glanced away, his standard, "I'm not hungry," excuse dying before it reached his lips. It took a moment, but he realized that he actually was hungry and had been for hours. He just had not noticed.

Her grip on his shoulder tightened. "Harry, I'm—"

"—worried," he finished for her. "I know. What I don't know is what you want me to say."

"You don't have to say anything," she said. "Just don't lie to me."

Harry turned back to her, the question of why she said that falling short as well. He knew why. "Then get to the point."

She stared at him for a long time. Her silence gave Harry a chance to study her as well. It struck him that she looked much like she had when the cup had been influencing her. Her eyes were dull and tired with dark circles underneath. Her hair stuck out from her head in a bushy mess, disguising the fact that her face had thinned considerably. Harry's eyes traveled down, over the bandages still around her neck and her right arm.

Her voice finally rang through the silence. "Are you really better?"

"Yes," Harry answered quickly before he could think about it for too long. Before he could remember the way he had woken up.

She stared into his eyes, as though trying to decipher any untruthfulness. "How?"

Harry did not answer. He could not.

Hermione gave him several moments before speaking again. "You're sure you're not going to relapse?"

"As sure as I can be," he said. He waited for more questions, but none came. "Anything else?"

She looked as though she had more to say. Much more. However, she shook her head. "No."

So, Harry stood and walked away.

-

The rest of the day passed with no significance. During meals, Harry sat next to Hermione again, remaining silent except to briefly answer questions addressed directly to him. When the meals ended, he would wander the halls. His walks brought him back to the courtyard at times, but he never stayed there for long. He also walked past the Room of Requirement several times, though he managed to convince himself that it was purely unintentional.

He did not meet a single person in the hallways during this time. He was able to write off Ron and Hermione, as he had heard them talking in hushed voices about going to the library. He supposed that the professors were also busy elsewhere. He had not seen a single one of the guards that McGonagall had said patrolled the school, however, and that did unnerve him slightly.

After about an hour of wandering after dinner, Harry finally trudged back up to Gryffindor Tower. In the common room, he found Hermione and Ron sitting in armchairs by the fire. Hermione's head was bowed over a massive book open in her lap, her lips moving silently. Ron had a similar book, but anyone who looked at him could tell that he was not actually reading but watching Hermione out of the corner of his eye instead.

Harry had only a brief glimpse of this before the two noticed his entrance and looked up. Tension rose as none of them spoke, just stared at each other from a distance. Then, Harry looked away, heading upstairs. He was still determined to stop their worrying, just not tonight. He was too tired.

Once in his bed, Harry found falling asleep to be much trickier than he had hoped. His exhaustion was real enough. Each time he came close to drifting off, however, each time he felt himself begin to separate from his body, a wave of fear would strike and he jolted back, muscles clenching and breath catching in his chest. He was not frightened of the dreams. Quite the contrary, he longed for them more than anything, and that was what scared him. That he wanted it.

He heard the door open and closed his eyes, listening to Ron's footsteps cross the room, followed by the creaking of the bed. He waited until the sounds of snoring filled the room before opening his eyes again. He knew that if he continued to lie there, he would eventually fall asleep. If he wanted to stay awake, he needed to move. So, his tired limbs lamenting every movement, he stood up and retrieved the cloak again, pulling it on as he descended the stairs.

The common room was dark, lit only by a few glowing embers from the fireplace. Hermione was still there, curled up in an armchair fast asleep with her book still propped open. Harry tiptoed past her and out into the corridor.

Once again, Harry managed to make it to the Room of Requirement without seeing anyone and hardly aware of how he got there. Instinct told him to just leave. He would not find any more answers than the previous night.

Still, if he did not find answers here, where else did he have to turn?

Malfoy was still awake. He sat against one wall, head bent over a chessboard. A lantern sat next to the board, casting long shadows over the floor and making his skin look almost transparent. His lips twisted in a slight scowl, one eye twitching.

"Where did you get the board?" Harry asked lightly as he swung the door shut and pulled off the cloak.

"Funny thing," Malfoy said without looking up. "I found it in that desk. It wasn't there before you changed the room."

Harry spared the barest glance for the desk. "You lied to me," he said.

"Bishop to E-5," Malfoy said. One of the black bishops moved three spaces. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"You did do something to me. And I'm not leaving until you fix it."

This time, Malfoy did look up. "You're still on about that? I told you, there's nothing wrong with your head."

"You're lying!"

"What? You think if you say it enough times it'll be true?" He sighed and stood. "But if you insist. Lay down."

Harry knew the drill. He lay down with his head at the foot of the bed while Malfoy fetched the desk chair. When Malfoy's face appeared in his field of vision, he resisted the urge to turn away. He concentrated all of his attention on Malfoy's eyes, waiting for the descension down the dark tunnel.

It did not come. Instead, Malfoy just stared for a long time before finally speaking. "It happens when you sleep?"

Harry tensed. Malfoy had been reading his mind. "Yeah," he said stiffly

Malfoy let out a slow breath. "Close your eyes."

Harry hesitated for a long time. He had a bad feeling about this. But he could see no other way. So, finally, he let his heavy eyelids fall. He felt a light touch on either side of his head and flinched.

"Relax," Malfoy said. His fingers started tracing circles around Harry's temples.

Exhaustion had caught up with Harry again. His limbs felt as though they were made of lead. Still, his insides were writhing. He could no more sleep now than he could before.

The fingers stopped. Warm air tickled Harry's ear. "I can't do this part for you, Potter," Malfoy's voice whispered. "Let go."

Harry shuddered. He tried to imagine himself somewhere else. Anywhere but here, where Malfoy's warm breath still brushed his face, where Malfoy's mouth was so close to his skin he could almost feel it. Then, in his mind, something else began to take hold. Behind his eyelids, he saw blue-gray. Though he could not explain it why, the knots in his stomach slowly loosened. He knew what was coming. He still dreaded it, but knew it was inevitable.

The world shattered into a thousand glittering pieces. The shards sliced his veins, pouring white-hot blood over nerves that already sizzled with electricity. A multitude of colors filtered under his eyelids, rushing away and dropping off in the distance like a waterfall. He peered after them, wishing he could follow, but his body would not obey. How could it, when his muscles had all melted away?

He was just barely asleep, and even now, he could feel himself waking up. Feeling was returning to his fingers. As he reluctantly drifted back from the edge, something else came into his vision and made him stop.

Malfoy stood just feet from him, in the midst of the sea of color. He peered over the waterfall with wide eyes, his mouth open slightly. He did not seem to notice that Harry was there.

The force tugging Harry backwards became more insistent, but he held fast. As feeling returned to his legs, he forced himself to take a step forward. Then another and another, until he stood beside Malfoy again. The pulsing in his veins had turned to a drumbeat in his head, slamming against his skull. He could not stay here. Not for much longer. "Malfoy?" he said, the name tearing through his throat.

"This is what it felt like?" Malfoy said without looking up. His voice was barely audible over the roaring in Harry's ears. He took a step toward the edge.

Harry seized his arm. "Don't." He did not know what was over the edge of that cliff, but he knew that if Malfoy stepped over it, there would be no coming back.

Harry was in agony. It was all he could do to stay still as the force pulled at him, squeezing his chest in a vice grip. Tightening his hold on Malfoy, he stopped resisting. The built up energy swung him backwards like a slingshot and sent him souring toward the surface. The colors melded together and dulled into darkness, and he woke with a jolt, the hand that had been closed around Malfoy's arm clenching instead around blankets.

Malfoy, whose fingers had been holding Harry's eyes open, let his hands fall until his arms rest on either side of Harry's head. He did not move otherwise, his face still hovering over Harry's. His eyes were distant, his breath still coming out in short spurts. After a moment, he slumped forward a bit further, his eyes closing.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to find his voice. "Are—?"

Malfoy's lips closed over his, cutting off all further speech. Harry did not fight back, caught off guard by the intensity. The need.

Just as quickly as it happened, it was over. Malfoy stared down at him again for a moment. Then, he started to straighten up.

Harry could not say why he did it. He could assign blame to any number of things: the dreams, the proximity, even the frustration of the past week. Whatever the reason, he saw Malfoy retreating and took action. His hands shot up, seizing either side of Malfoy's face, and pulled him back down, raising his own head to meet him halfway.

He knew it was wrong. From the instant he did it, he knew. That was not what stopped him though. Rather, as Malfoy's mouth parted over his, teeth gently grazing his bottom lip, the fire reignited in his veins, spreading warmth to every inch of his body, and sent a fresh wave of fear through him. Still, it was not all consuming, and only made him release his grip on Malfoy's face.

Malfoy pulled his head back at once, breaking the kiss, but he also did not go far, only backing up far enough so they were eye to eye again.

"You didn't do it," Harry said softly, still fighting to make sense of it all. If Malfoy did not do something to his mind to make him have those dreams, then what did?

"Finally figured that out, have you?"

Harry pulled away and sat up, twisting around. "But what is it then?"

"I don't know." Something was wrong. Malfoy showed no reaction to Harry's movement. He continued to talk at the bed, as though Harry was still lying down.

"Are—?"

Malfoy's head snapped up, causing Harry to cut off. "Make your choice, Potter," he said with a slight edge to his voice, "and do it fast."

Harry stared. He did not have to ask what Malfoy meant, though it hardly seemed a choice that he should have to think about. It should have been so easy to just leave. In fact, he had everything set up. Dobby would continue to bring food for as long as Harry asked him to. He could walk out that door and never come back. Never even feel guilty about it.

So, why was his mind even considering the possibility of staying?

He forced himself to stand. Pins-and-needles pain shot up through his legs, as though he had been laying on them. Trying to ignore it, he started forward.

Just as he walked past the foot of the bed, Malfoy stood, and their shoulders brushed. It was an accident. The contact was brief, barely even noticeable. But Harry noticed, and so did Malfoy. It was jarring enough to make them both stop. Their heads turned, eyes locking again.

Though the dream was still fresh in Harry's mind, the fear of its power over him was nothing compared to what he faced now. This fear had a hold in reality: in his doubts and hesitation.

"Well, I'm not waiting," Malfoy muttered, breaking eye contact and fumbling with his belt.

Harry reached out and grabbed his wrist to stop him.

Malfoy's arm muscles tensed, and he looked up. Several moments passed, as though he was waiting for Harry to do something. Then, he let out a rush of air, rolling his eyes. "That's not one of your choices. You can watch, you can help, or you can leave."

Every ounce of Harry's common sense opted for leaving, but he was frozen to the spot. When Malfoy started to pull out of his grasp, his grip tightened, his other hand moving to catch Malfoy's other arm before he could think to use it. _Slippery slope_, the voice of reason muttered in Harry's head, but it was barely a whisper. The screaming in mind was drowned by the pounding of his heart in his ears. He realized that he was getting closer.

There was no reason to what he did. In fact, there was every reason not to do it. As his lips met Malfoy's again, those reasons melded together into a gnawing in the pit of his stomach that continued to nag at him. It persisted through the kiss, increasing when Malfoy tugged his belt off and pushed him onto the bed, escalating to painful proportions when Malfoy slid inside him. Still, he did not fight back, and now he knew why.

He did not want to leave. And that's what terrified him the most.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: a new arrival, a quick lesson, and a short, yet much-dreaded meeting. Harry finally receives an answer to a question that's been up in the air for days: Why was Voldemort in his mind? I won't lie, folks. My homework is piling up, and personal issues that I won't get into have left me rather apathetic toward work of any kind. I'm nowhere near giving up on this story, but the next chapter most definitely will not be out before early May. I thought it best to let you all know now, especially since there are reviewers who say they check every day for updates.


	32. Chapter 32: Memory Roulette

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Also, thank you to all for being so understanding. Things are still stressful, but at least the school semester has ended, so I should be able to devote more time to writing. In theory, anyway. The only question that seems to have come up about the last chapter is in relation to what Malfoy saw at the bottom of the waterfall. A full explanation of the dream would take up way too much space, so I'll just cover a couple of points and try to direct everyone in the right direction. First off, the dream is a sex metaphor, pure and simple. What Malfoy sees at the bottom of the waterfall isn't important; the important part is the force drawing him toward the edge. Sorry if this is still confusing. If there are further questions, I'll answer them in an LJ post at some point in the future. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 32: Memory Roulette

Harry woke up. That was all. His limbs felt leaden, and he was sore in places that he did not want to think about. A thin sheen of sweat coated his skin, which felt uncomfortably warm.

But he was okay. The world did not end. He had not driven himself off the deep end.

And the dream had not returned.

Something bumped into Harry's leg. Malfoy was shifting in his sleep, turning onto his side in the bed that was almost too small for two. Harry stared at his bare back, the skin white as a sheet and unmarred. The ridges of his backbone and ribs were just visible underneath. Harry felt a wave of guilt that, for once, was not immediately quashed. How many times had he forgotten to bring Malfoy food? How many more times had he brought some but not nearly enough? Had Snape and Aberforth even fed him properly while he was there?

Malfoy drew a sudden, sharp breath, making Harry glance quickly towards the ceiling as he turned his head. He seemed to catch the movement, however, and gave a lazy smirk. "Get a good look, Potter?"

"You got what you wanted," Harry said in a monotone, pushing back the sheets to stand. He was naked, but when his shoulders still ached from Malfoy holding his arms behind his back, the idea of trying to cover himself up was laughable. "Don't make more of it than it is."

"I'm hardly the one in danger of that." Malfoy sat up, stretching and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He nodded at the chessboard across the room. "Care for a game?"

"I have to go," Harry said, stooping to pick up his clothes. "I don't want Dobby to find me here." There was no window or clock in the room and so no way to tell what time it was.

He dressed in dead silence. He could feel Malfoy's eyes on him but still did not allow himself to waver. Whether foolish or not, he had made his decision. All he could do now was maintain what little dignity he had left as he pulled his second shoe on, picked up the Invisibility Cloak, and headed out the door. He half expected Malfoy, desperate to have the last word, to make one last comment, but none came.

Harry had only just started down the hall when he heard a voice. "Harry?" He glanced around to see Neville walking down the hall toward him. "How long have you been here?"

"About a week," Harry answered, though it had hardly felt like that long, mostly because he had been unconscious for much of it.

Neville opened his mouth again, but hesitated and stopped in his tracks. "Are you okay? You look...tired."

Harry felt his usual urge to shrink away from the question but stood his ground. He forced himself to look Neville in the eye. He did not need more people thinking there was something wrong with him. "I'm fine," he said in a voice so reassuring he almost believed himself. "It's just...it's been a long summer."

Neville nodded as though he understood completely. "I'll see you at breakfast then?"

"Yeah," Harry said. Once Neville had gone, he turned and started for Gryffindor Tower to drop off the cloak before going to the Great Hall.

-

After breakfast, Hermione caught up with Harry in the corridor. "We need to talk."

_Great_, he thought. "About what?"

She shook her head. "Not here. Come on." She started down the hall, and Harry reluctantly followed. She led the way out to the courtyard, moving to the far corner so they would have plenty of notice if someone followed them out. She glanced around one last time to make sure they were alone. "I talked to Aberforth again," she said in a low, hesitant voice. "Well, actually, I talked to him a few days ago, but we wanted to be sure you were better before I told you."

"Told me what?" Harry prompted, trying not to let his impatience show too much.

She sighed. "Snape wants to talk to you."

Harry stiffened. The fear that had eased days before now returned with a vengeance. Because Malfoy had not mentioned anything, Harry had thought that Snape surely did not interrogate him. Now, he was starting to doubt that assumption.

"Of course, I told him you wouldn't," Hermione continued, "but he said it's really important."

Unable to trust himself to keep a blank expression, Harry glanced away, staring out over the grounds, his mind racing. He searched for any excuse not to go, but he shot down every thought he had before it even got out. No doubt Hermione believed that this meeting was about the Horcruxes or something else to do with Voldemort. Any objections that Harry dared to voice, mostly having to do with Dumbledore's death, were considerable, yet paltry in the grand scheme.

Hermione moved to stand beside him, looking out in the same direction. "I know this will be hard for you," she said. "Please, just don't think about what he did. Think of how much he's helped us. Think of what Dumbledore would want you to do."

Harry was really tired of people saying that. Still, he kept these feelings to himself. "When?" he asked.

"Tonight. Aberforth will come through the fireplace to get you."

Harry nodded once. That would give him some time. Not much, but it might be enough.

Hermione touched his shoulder. "I know things have been a little crazy, and we haven't really had a chance to talk lately. If you want—"

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather be alone."

She withdrew her hand. "Okay. I'll be in the library if you need me." She turned and walked back toward the building.

Harry gave her a couple minutes, not wanting to run into her again. Then, he turned and moved swiftly into the castle.

Malfoy was sitting in his corner with his chessboard again. "You're early," he commented without looking up when Harry entered.

"Did you tell Snape anything?" Harry asked, determined not to let himself get derailed from his purpose.

This time, Malfoy did glance up. "Define 'anything.'"

"Answer the question."

Malfoy did not speak for a moment. "I told him my mother was dead," he said finally. "He already knew about my father. I asked him about a few people. He told me which ones were still alive."

"That's it?" Harry said. "He didn't ask you anything?"

Another pause. "He asked how you were treating me."

Harry faltered. He had not expected that. "What..." He stopped to collect his thoughts. "What did you—?"

"Did you have a point, Potter, or are you just here to chat?"

Harry stared for the few moments it took his mind to process this. "So, you didn't tell him about...?"

"No," Malfoy said. There was not a hint of insincerity in his voice or his expression.

"Good," Harry said, "because I have a question for you."

"And what would that be?"

"Can you teach me how to hide specific memories by tonight?"

"I highly doubt it. Why?"

Harry saw no reason to beat around the bush. "Snape wants to talk to me."

Malfoy glanced away. "Shit," he swore under his breath. Then, he stood. "I'll see what I can do."

Harry moved over to the bed and lay down, waiting impatiently as Malfoy pulled the desk chair over. It took a while to calm his mind down enough for Malfoy to even attempt to get inside. To his surprise, Malfoy waited in silence. Finally, when Harry's nerves had eased, he felt the familiar sensation of descending down a tunnel, watching Malfoy's face grow farther away until all he could see was a speck of light.

"All right," a voice said from nearby. Harry tore his eyes away from the sky and looked at Malfoy, who stood a few feet away. "We'll skip the Quidditch this time and go straight to the maze."

_Quidditch?_ Harry did not have a chance to voice his question. The landscape morphed suddenly before his eyes. He found himself standing on the edge of a green field similar to the Quidditch pitch, but without the goal hoops and stands. Then, the ground began to tremble as hedges rose from the ground in the pattern of a gigantic maze. They climbed slowly higher, reaching twenty feet in the air before finally coming to a halt. When it was finished, it looked almost exactly like the maze from the Triwizard Tournament.

As Harry stared at it, he felt a small twinge, not in his scar, but in the very center of his head, as though something had shifted out of place. Something about the maze unsettled him, but he could not quite put his finger on what it was.

Malfoy took a moment to survey his work. Then, he raised one hand in the air, palm facing up. A shimmering ball of red light the size of a marble appeared in his hand and grew until it was twice the size of his head. Nodding to himself, he launched it into the air. It soared up over the maze and, just as it reached its peak, burst into a thousand identical segments which fell into random parts of the maze.

"Come on," Malfoy said, starting toward the maze.

Harry hesitated, still unsure of why he was so uneasy, but finally stepped forward as well. As he approached, however, something caught his attention. "There's no entrance."

"Of course there is." Malfoy was at the wall now. He reached out a hand, which vanished into the hedge as though it was not even there. "Follow me." He stepped forward, disappearing without disturbing a leaf.

Harry followed. As he stepped through the hedge, he felt only slight resistance, as though he was passing through a wall of water. Then, he was on the other side, staring at another hedge. The path stretched on for several yards in either direction, with a break in the wall every once in a while. All around them, the red spheres, now too numerous to count, rolled along the ground, sliding around them as though they were not even there.

"First lesson," Malfoy said. "This maze is your mind. That first wall represents how easy it is to get in when there are no defenses."

"So how do I fix that?"

"You can't. Yet. You have to understand the metaphor first." Malfoy picked up a red ball. "This is a memory. Either one that's at the front of your mind, or somehow connected to one at the front of your mind. The best Legilimens can tell what the memory is just by glancing over it." He held the ball out to Harry.

Harry took it. As he watched the swirling red energy, a series of images passed before his eyes, almost too quick to see: a mass of cheering people, students zooming around on broomsticks, a younger version of himself high in the air watching it all. The twinge in his mind returned, more intense this time, and he looked away, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"Nostalgic?" Malfoy said, with a smirk. "Look down."

Harry did and noticed that a batch of memories were crowding around his feet, as though drawn by some invisible force.

"The distance represents how closely related the memories are. That one..." Malfoy pointed at a memory that was attempting to roll up Harry's leg. "...is probably something that happened right before or after. Or another Quidditch match." He took the memory back from Harry and tossed it a few feet. The memories around Harry surged toward it in a wave and he soon lost sight of it.

"Now," Malfoy continued, "the further we get from that memory, the more vague the connections. The next one might have nothing to do with Quidditch."

Curious, Harry picked up another ball and glanced down at it. He barely caught a glimpse of himself kissing Ginny before his hands jerked violently and he dropped it. He saw the other memories surging around it and wished that he had thrown it further away.

"Different Legilimens will use different strategies depending on what they want," Malfoy said. "Some will just do a quick sweep through memories at the front of the mind. Obviously, it has to be done quickly, before the memories start swarming. Then, there's your pure offense: plowing through the mind to reach the innermost memories. Depending on how good they are, they'll either work through the maze or go right through the walls." He placed his hand against the inner hedge. It sunk in slowly, as though the wall were made of molasses. He dropped his arm back to his side. "That's usually reserved for a moderate Occlumens. Someone who can control the flow of thoughts but can't build up their defenses.

"But the most common way is to let the victim control the direction." He picked up a ball. "Put your hand here and concentrate."

Harry hesitated. Then, he placed his hand on top of the memory and squinted at it. At first, the images flashed by as they had before, but after a while they began to slow. He saw himself and Ginny in the hallway outside his room, her hand reaching toward his face. Then, just as his memory-self flinched away from her touch, another ball jumped up, knocking the first out of Malfoy's hands.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"I told you. I let your mind direct the flow. This tells me which memories are important to you and why. Either you'll show me another memory that's connected, or you'll show me another one that's close to the surface." He stared down into the new memory. Harry did the same and saw himself and Ginny sitting by Lupin's bedside, talking.

Another memory jumped up to replace that one. Harry's stomach clenched when he saw another glimpse of Ginny, lying half-naked on his bed, but luckily, Malfoy dropped this one without looking.

"Fine," Harry said, desperate to get away from those memories. "I know how it works. Now tell me how to stop it."

"The first step is to build up your outer wall. That's the defense you need to keep up at all times."

"How do I do that?"

"Just like you conjured the broom. You will it."

Harry furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what Malfoy meant. It did not help that the pain in his head was becoming more insistent. "What?"

"What are you, deaf? You imagine the wall's solid, just like you imagined the broom."

"What broom?"

Malfoy turned to him with a skeptic look. "Quidditch? The Snitch?" He blinked. "You honestly have no idea, do you?"

Harry shook his head, bowing his head and massaging his temples. To be honest, he was trying not to think about it. A small, nagging fear had crept up inside him, but it was not the pain that caused it. Rather, it was the other feeling in his mind: a small, yet all too familiar sensation of nothingness.

He felt a light hand on his shoulder and glanced up. Malfoy stared into his eyes, looking almost concerned. "What do you remember about the lesson?"

Harry hesitated. "I remembered that you could conjure things," he said. He had a suspicion that this was just from when Malfoy repaired his mind, so he reluctantly closed his eyes and concentrated. "I remember the tunnel...and you trying to get me to calm down. I remember...the sky." His head gave a sharp throb and his legs buckled. He felt a strong grip on his arms and opened his eyes at once, surprised to find Malfoy holding him upright.

Even after he had regained his footing, Malfoy continued to watch him. "Someone pulled that information out of your mind," he said. "It wasn't Granger, was it? It was him."

It was not a question. Still, Harry nodded.

Malfoy stared for just another moment before finally releasing Harry and glancing away. "Then we have a lot of work to do." He stepped up to the wall, gesturing for Harry to do the same. "This is your mind. You have just as much control over the scenery as I do. Concentrate on the wall and imagine it as something more solid."

Harry gave Malfoy an unbelieving look but focused on the wall. Nothing happened.

Malfoy sighed and sat down, memories rolling out of the way to give him room. "By all means, take your time. I'm sure your attacker will wait for you."

Harry felt a twinge of irritation and narrowed his eyes at the wall. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the hedge began to waver, the leaves fading to dull gray and melding together to form a solid stone wall.

Malfoy stood and walked up to the wall, pressing his hand against it. "Not bad. But this is just your first line of defense. It blocks out the attack until you can set up the rest." He turned back. "Now you have to protect the important thoughts. Get them out of the front of your mind."

"How?"

"There's a few—" Suddenly, his head snapped up to look at the ceiling. "Stop!" he shouted.

"What—?"

Malfoy waved his hand at Harry to shush him, keeping his eyes fixed firmly upward, speaking in a loud voice. "He's fine. Just wait a minute." He turned to Harry then, grabbing his arms. "Time's up."

Harry felt a sharp pull as Malfoy jumped, and they soared up into the air through the darkness. The tiny pinprick in the ceiling widened again, Malfoy's face drawing closer and closer until finally coming to a halt. Harry felt a small jolt and realized he was back in his body. A light ache still resounded in his head, but not enough to concern him. Meanwhile, Malfoy straightened up, breaking eye contact.

"Harry Potter?" a squeaky voice said. Harry sat up to see Dobby staring at him with wide eyes. A tray lay at his feet, food splattered onto the floor, as though he had dropped it.

"I'm fine, Dobby," Harry said.

The elf still looked uneasy as he glanced down at the tray. "Dobby's sorry. He'll bring more food." He turned to walk back out the door.

Harry sighed and hurried after him. "Dobby, wait."

The elf stopped in the hall, turning back. "Yes, sir?"

Harry closed the door and glanced up and down the hall to make sure it was empty before speaking again. "He's teaching me Occlumency," he said in an undertone. He had not meant to say it so bluntly, but he did not want to waste time.

A look of realization dawned on Dobby's face. "Oh," was all he said.

"Please, don't tell anyone," Harry said.

Dobby nodded, but then he cocked his head to one side. "Harry Potter isn't telling his friends?"

Harry shook his head. "I can't really explain it. Please, just trust me."

The elf still looked troubled, taking a few steps backward. "Dobby will return with more food." He turned and hurried off down the hall.

When Harry returned to the room, Malfoy was standing off to one side of the room, wand clutched in one hand. "He'll be back then?"

Harry nodded, keeping his eye on the wand.

Malfoy noticed and followed his gaze. "There isn't enough time to go back to the maze, but we can at least test to make sure we aren't wasting our time."

Harry stared. Then he nodded, "Fine."

From the moment he opened his mouth, Malfoy was already raising his wand. "_Legilimens!_"

Harry lay on the floor of the Hogwarts Express, covered with the Invisibility Cloak, his nose bleeding. Then, he was sitting in Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia, soaring through the sky with Ron. A moment later, he was watching Sirius in dog form drag Ron into the cavern beneath the Whomping Willow.

"You're not even trying." Malfoy lowered his wand, breaking the spell and leaving Harry on his knees, breathing heavily.

"You didn't...give me time—" Harry gasped out.

"I gave you more time than he will. I thought you would've learned that by now." Malfoy sighed. "If your main strategy is defense, you'll never win. And if you only react, you have nothing."

"Fine," Harry said, struggling to stand. "What do I do?"

"Same as before. Imagine the wall. Put it between your mind and mine."

Harry closed his eyes, and thought about the stone wall, trying to picture it in his head.

"_Legilimens!_"

Harry felt a slight, brief pressure on the front of his head. Then, he was falling from his broomstick, plummeting through clouds. The clouds turned into a tunnel. He hit the bottom and looked up to find himself surrounded on three sides by stone walls, a set of bars on the fourth. He stared through the bars into the cell across the hall from his, where Nott crouched in front of his bars, laughing. "It's over," he slurred. "It's all over."

The images lifted, and Harry was kneeling again, his head pounding. Malfoy stood staring down at him, looking slightly shaken. Then, he shook his head and the expression faded. "Paper walls," he said. "You're going to have to do better than that."

The door creaked open. Dobby stepped in, carrying a new tray of cold chicken and ham sandwiches. His eyes darted to Malfoy briefly, then settled on Harry's kneeling form with a slight look of worry, but he said nothing. He lifted the tray up onto the desk and left without a word.

"Lucky break." Malfoy selected a sandwich and sat in the desk chair. He raised it to his mouth, then stopped, looking at Harry, who had not moved yet. "Eat. We've got a lot of work to do."

Harry stared for a moment before finally standing up and taking a sandwich. His stomach was too unsettled, however, and moments later, he dropped the half-eaten sandwich back on the plate.

Malfoy finished his own sandwich but did not move to pick up another. "Ready?"

Harry nodded and moved back to the bed, lying down. The sooner he learned, the better.

Once at the bottom of the tunnel, Malfoy transported them back into the maze with the memories swarming around their feet. "You have the walls," he said. "It's just a matter of practice. We'll move on to something else." He picked up a memory, staring into it. Harry looked as well and saw an image of himself lying in a bed in the hospital wing, Ron sitting by his side.

"Good enough," Malfoy said. He glanced up at Harry. "This part's easy. Concentrate on a memory that doesn't connect with this one."

Harry found that this was harder than it seemed. He tried to think of anything else, but he drew a blank. The memory of the hospital wing had taken root in the front of his mind, filling his consciousness.

"Pick something with low emotional attachment," Malfoy said.

Harry tried to think. What memory was the furthest from this one? There had to be something buried in his mind that would work.

It came to him. He focused his eyes on the hedge to keep from looking at the glimmering memory in Malfoy's hand and concentrated, trying to tear himself away from thoughts of the hospital wing.

He saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and looked around just in time to see the new memory leap up, knocking the other from Malfoy's hand. The other memories shifted around their feet, readjusting to this new development.

Malfoy stared into the memory, at the flashes of a classroom full of students and a transparent man standing at the head of the room. He smirked. "History of Magic," he said. "Interesting choice." He tossed the memory back into the sea. "That was easy enough. Now, for something more challenging." He picked up another memory at random and focused intently on it.

The maze and memories dissolved into darkness, along with Malfoy. Then, a new scene materialized around Harry, along with a number of familiar people. Harry stood in the midst of former classmates: Gryffindors and Slytherins. At the front of the room, which Harry now recognized as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Room, Ron was facing off with a boggart in the form of a giant spider. Professor Lupin stood to one side, looking on.

"Now," Malfoy's voice said. Harry looked around, but he only saw his fellow Gryffindors. "Try to think of something else."

Harry tried. As hard as it was before to think of a different memory, it was even harder now. This time, there was nothing to focus on but the memory. It surrounded him on all sides. Harry glanced around at it, trying to find something to trigger his mind. Then, as the legs of the spider disappeared, his eyes moved back to it.

Everything melted away again. When the scenery faded back in, he was sitting at a table in Hagrid's hut, listening to drunken Hagrid and Slughorn sing about the death of a wizard named Odo.

Harry heard laughing but did not bother to look around this time. "Oh, that's rich," Malfoy's voice said. "All right, let's try another." The scene disappeared yet again, replaced by a room in Grimmauld Place. Harry sat in a chair by a bed where Lupin still lay comatose, thick bandages wrapped around his throat.

No voice came this time. Harry was left to stare at Lupin. There was nothing to trigger his mind here. He already knew it. Instead of trying, he set to thinking about why he had visited Lupin on that occasion. It took him a moment, but he finally remembered that he had been trying to figure out if he should send Malfoy to Aberforth and Snape. He also remembered that Ginny would be coming in soon to check on him. It struck him at once that he should not let himself think about Ginny, but the thought had latched on to his consciousness. Try as he might, he could not keep his mind from going to the one thing he wanted to avoid.

The scene changed. Harry stood in the hallway just outside his room at Grimmauld Place with Ginny. "I just...I didn't want to leave things like that," she said, touching his arm. "I'm sorry."

Harry felt the impulse to lean in and forcibly yanked himself away from it. As he did so, he looked over Ginny's shoulder and saw Malfoy standing behind her. He felt a swell of anger, and, in an instant, the scene switched back to the maze. Ginny disappeared, and he found himself standing across from Malfoy, who still had the glowing red ball in hand.

"I thought I told you, Potter," Malfoy said, tossing the memory into the air. It soared up and fell back down into another part of the maze. "Pushing me out of a memory tells me that it's important."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Harry demanded, focusing on his anger to keep from thinking about the memory.

"Don't let me get to it in the first place," Malfoy said, putting emphasis on each word. "Bury the important memories and show me the things that don't matter."

"How am I supposed to do that when you won't show me how?!"

Malfoy scoffed. "Do you expect me to hold your hand? This isn't first year Herbology. You have to think for yourself. Now..." He stooped down to pick up another memory. "...let's try this again."

Before Harry could object, Malfoy had disappeared again, along with the maze. Harry was back in the cell at St. Dymphna's, lying on the floor, the right lens of his glasses smashed and his muscles aching. The only sound that met his ears was a low chuckle. Wondering why he had returned to this memory again, he looked up, though he already knew what he would see: Theodore Nott, crouched in front of his bars.

"It's over," he said with his maniacal grin. "It's all over."

The world vanished without warning, and a voice that was familiar met his ears. "You bastard!" A younger Malfoy, around thirteen years old, marched past him, roughly shoving Theodore Nott, who was the same age. "I told you that in confidence, how dare you—"

Harry had just enough time to recognize the Slytherin common room, empty save for himself and the two boys, before he was yanked out of it roughly, Malfoy's voice cutting off in mid-sentence. He stumbled backwards, falling on the grass as the maze walls reappeared around him.

Malfoy stood in the same spot as he had before, though there was no memory in his hand this time. His face was white as a sheet, his hands clenching and unclenching. For a moment, he did not even seem to notice that Harry was still there, his eyes unfocused.

Then, he blinked and his expression hardened. He stepped forward wordlessly and bent to grab Harry's arm. Harry felt another pull and soared up into the air and back into his body lying on the bed. Malfoy stood almost at once and crossed the room so that Harry had to twist himself around to keep him in sight.

"What was—?" Harry started once he found his voice.

"It'll be almost time for dinner by now," Malfoy said without turning around. "You should go before someone comes looking."

Harry just stared for a moment, his mind trying to process the sudden shift in attitude. "What about Snape?" he asked.

Malfoy did not speak for so long that Harry thought maybe he was ignoring him.. "Don't look him in the eye," he said finally. "Put up your wall and hide the memories that matter."

Harry still had no idea how to do this, but he suspected he would not be getting any answers at the moment. Besides, another, more insistent question was demanding his attention. "And V—You-Know-Who?" he amended at the last moment, not wanting to risk Malfoy deciding not to answer. "What if he gets in my head again?"

Malfoy took even longer to answer this time. "It happens when you sleep?"

"Yeah."

Another brief pause. "After you see Snape, come back here. I'll see what I can do." Before Harry could think of anything else to ask, Malfoy turned and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door.

-

"Where've you been?" Neville asked when Harry arrived in the Great Hall, where dinner was already underway.

Harry shrugged, taking a bite of his steak so he would not have to answer. Ron was making a point of not paying attention to him. Hermione appeared on first glance to be doing the same, but a closer inspection showed that she was watching him out of the corner of her eye. Neville still looked confused, but after a moment he finally just looked away, focusing his attention on his plate.

After dinner, the four went back to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione made a beeline for a table in the corner of the room, piled high with books and stacks of parchment. Ron glanced briefly at Harry and took the armchair closest to Hermione. Taking the hint, Harry took the chair farthest away from them.

Neville sat near Harry, looking between the three of them. "Did you three have a fight or something?" he asked in a low voice.

Harry glanced across the room. His eyes met Ron's for an instant before they both looked away. "Not really," he muttered. "It's a long story."

"Oh." Neville did not say anything else for a long time. Finally, he mumbled something about going to bed and left the common room.

Harry stared into the empty fireplace. He was exhausted, not physically but mentally. Though his head did not hurt anymore, he was once again aware of the small fissure that had reopened in his mind. It was not impeding his thoughts, but it was still there, and it scared him. Was it just trying to think about the removed memories that did the damage? Or was Malfoy's patchwork repair only temporary?

Trying to find something else to focus on, he turned his eyes to the others. Hermione still sat at her desk, three books open in front of her. Her face was scrunched in concentration, eyes narrowed, and she breathed heavily through gritted teeth. Her bandaged hand clutched a quill, slowly and shakily scratching out notes on a scroll of parchment.

As Harry watched, Ron stood and strode over to Hermione, gently touching the back of her hand. When she stopped and glanced up at him, he pulled the quill from her fingers. Only then did he glance at the books. "Dementors?" he asked.

Before Hermione had a chance to reply, a low squeak, as though from a mouse, emanated from the fireplace, where a few embers had begun to glow. She jumped to her feet at once and hurried to the fireplace. "That's him." She pointed her wand at the embers, sending a shower of green sparks over them.

A few moments later, green flames leapt into the air and Aberforth stepped through, shaking soot from his beard. "Severus is waiting," he said. He glanced at the other two. "He wants to see Mr. Potter alone."

Hermione looked hesitant. "I don't—"

"It's fine," Harry said quickly, though he wondered if he would regret it later. He stood and stepped forward.

She touched his shoulder. "You know you don't have to do this," she said in an undertone.

He shrugged her hand off. "I said it's fine," he muttered and nodded at Aberforth.

Aberforth returned the nod and drew a pouch from his pocket. He threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace and motioned for Harry to step forward. He settled a hand on Harry's shoulders and guided him into the green flames, stepping in behind him.

Harry felt Aberforth's grip tighten suddenly and he plummeted through the fire, tumbling past fireplace after fireplace. With no idea of his destination, he felt just as disoriented as he had the first time he used the Floo Network. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing it would stop. He felt himself start to pitch forward and the hands on his shoulders locked with bruising force.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, his feet hit solid ground and he stumbled. The hands held him tight again, keeping him upright until he regained his footing and opened his eyes.

The room they had appeared in was about the size of the bedroom Malfoy was staying in. The walls were splintered and peppered with holes where the wood had rotted away. Floating orbs hovering near the ceiling cast light over a moth-eaten sofa and weathered coffee table, which was stacked almost to Harry's height with books and parchment. More books lay on the floor in heaps, numbering to at least one hundred if not more. Two doors led off from the room, both of which were closed.

Aberforth strode over to the door on the right, knocking and pushing it open a crack. Then, he gestured for Harry to go in.

Harry started forward. It was only a few steps to the door, but it seemed miles. When he finally arrived, Aberforth spoke in a low voice. "He's still recovering. I know you've had your differences, but try not to provoke him too much. I'll be out here if you need me." He went to sit on the sofa. Harry took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

He had just a brief glimpse of a cauldron bubbling with dark red potion before a voice rang out. "Shut the door, Potter!" it demanded.

Harry did so, throwing himself into almost total darkness, save for a soft glow that seemed to emanate from the corners of the ceiling. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the cauldron again, set up on a table in the middle of the room, surrounded by piles of parchment and open books. Behind that, Harry could see a makeshift bed of blankets on the floor, obscured by a black shadow. Then, finally, his vision cleared, and he saw that the shadow was Snape sitting on the blankets, leaning back against the wall. He watched Harry closely.

_Don't look him in the eye_. Harry focused on the cauldron. It seemed to be giving off the slight smell of burning hair.

"That potion can't be exposed to light." Snape shifted, braced his hands against the wall, and slowly pushed himself to his feet. His face twitched and he touched a hand to his abdomen.

The betrayal of weakness was brief, but it helped to take the edge off of Harry's nerves. "You wanted to talk," he said in as close to a neutral voice as he could manage, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible.

"Miss Granger tells me you're having the dreams again," Snape said. His eyes bore into Harry, making it was very hard to keep his own focused elsewhere.

"I can handle it," Harry said, his heart pounding in his chest as he realized what this meeting was really about.

"That's not your decision. Contrary to what you may believe, Potter, the world does not revolve around you. _Look at me when I talk to you!_"

Harry flinched, but stopped himself from glancing up. It was a close call, however, and he could feel a headache starting to build. "I'd rather not," he said with an edge to his voice.

"You finally learned something then. It's a miracle. I wonder how Professor Dumbledore—"

Harry's self control snapped and he looked up, his eyes flashing. "Don't talk about Dumbledore!" he shouted.

Snape did not even waver. He only sneered. "I take it back. You haven't learned a thing."

Harry's cheeks burned, and he turned away, his fury rebounding on himself.

Seeming even more amused, Snape took two steps forward and braced a hand against the table to steady himself. He peered into the cauldron and set to stirring the contents. "I assure you, Potter," he said, "I have no desire to waste my time. However, the fact of the matter is you need to learn Occlumency."

"Not from you," Harry said through gritted teeth.

"I already told you, that's not your decision."

"And you can't force me. This isn't Hogwarts. I don't have to listen to you anymore."

Snape stopped stirring the potion and looked up so fast Harry was barely able to glance away in time. "The Dark Lord has direct access to your mind. Until you learn to control it, you're a liability."

Harry was suddenly very aware of the door behind him, gauging how long it would take to run. He took a small step backwards, his hand poised at his side, ready to reach for his wand. He wished the throbbing in his head would stop. "Is that a threat?"

Before Snape could answer, there was a sharp knock at the door. He let out a short burst of air through his nostrils and grabbed a black cloth from the table to cover the cauldron. As he moved toward the door, Harry backed away, determined not to turn his back on Snape for a moment.

Aberforth stood on the other side of the door. He spoke to Snape in a whisper, but his words carried. "The wards are fading," he said. "We need that potion now."

Snape nodded curtly. "It'll be ready in five minutes." He turned to Harry again. "Think on what I said, Potter."

Aberforth waved Harry forward. "Time to go."

Glad for the reason to leave, Harry hurried back out of the room. Even as he did so, he felt a slight prickling on the back of his neck. He glanced at Aberforth and, for a split second before the older wizard noticed him looking, Harry saw that his eyes were watching the other door leading off from the main room. As he turned to look at it, his feeling of unease increased. What was in there?

Aberforth settled a hand on Harry's shoulder, making him jump. "Sorry to send you off like this," he said, gently but insistently steering Harry toward the fireplace, "but we have some business to attend to." He drew the pouch from his pocket again and offered it to Harry. "If you need to contact us, I'll be speaking with Miss Granger every few nights or so."

Unsure of whether he was reluctant or eager to leave, Harry took a handful of Floo Powder, tossed it into the fire, and stepped inside. "Gryffindor common room, Hogwarts!"

When he arrived back in the common room, he found only Hermione still waiting for him. "That was fast," she said.

_Apparently not fast enough for someone_, Harry thought darkly, glancing at the stairs to the boys' dormitory. "Aberforth said they had business to take care of."

"Oh." Hermione looked a little disappointed. "What did—?"

"I'm really tired," Harry said. "Can we talk about this tomorrow?" Without waiting for her answer, he started for the staircase.

She said nothing.

When he reached the dormitory, however, he did not even think about going to sleep. After checking to make sure Ron and Neville were asleep, he went to his bed and pulled the Invisibility Cloak out from underneath his pillow. He drew the cloak around himself and went back downstairs.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: A new perspective, a concerned friend, and a sickeningly vivid mental projection. Pain is the name of the game, and Harry learns that while there's no excuse for the things Malfoy's done, there may just be a reason. Lots happening in the next chapter, though it seems like I'm always saying that lately. I suppose it might also be time to inform everyone that, for me at least, the end is in sight. It's still kind of blurry on the horizon and I don't know how long it'll take to get there, but things are starting to fall into place. My goal is to have the whole fic finished before the end of the summer.


	33. Chapter 33: The Reason

Author's Note: A thousand thanks to all reviewers. This is a pivotal chapter. It has a plot sequence that I've been building up to almost since I started the fic. Please note, this is another chapter where not everything is explained outright, though I tried to make it as clear as possible. There are a few things that might only be picked up by careful readers, but they are not essential to the understanding. I'll also note that there's a sequence in here that might nauseate those with weak stomachs, especially if you manage to pick up exactly what's happening. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 33: The Reason

Harry pushed the door open onto silent darkness and lit the tip of his wand, lightly sweeping it over the room. Malfoy was already curled up in his corner, fast asleep. Harry stepped forward a few paces, pulling the cloak off.

He considered leaving for only a moment. After all, Malfoy had not been able to help him keep Voldemort out so far. What were the chances he could learn in one night? Still, Harry could not help but think of what might happen if he fell asleep again before he knew how to protect his mind.

Malfoy made a sudden moaning noise, shifting onto his back. His face scrunched, lips moving wordlessly. Harry watched, wondering what Malfoy could be dreaming about that would disrupt his sleep so.

It struck him then that there was a way of finding out. He almost dismissed the thought outright. It would be an incredible violation of privacy. But, as he reminded himself with marked bitterness, that certainly never stopped Malfoy. If anything, it would be retribution. Besides, he did not even know if it would work.

Harry moved forward again, determined to do this before he lost his nerve. He settled down next to Malfoy, lightly touching the sides of his head and prying his eyes open. He half expected Malfoy to wake up then. A part of him might even have wished for it, but Malfoy continued to sleep. The up-close sight of his eyes rolled into the back of his head made Harry's stomach churn, but he forced himself to look.

He was not sure what he was supposed to do now, so he thought maybe he should try the same thing he used to go into Voldemort's mind after Hermione was captured. He tried to clear his own mind, focusing only on Malfoy's eyes and blocking out all else.

As he looked on, he realized that, while he still saw the eyes, they seemed to have become transparent. Past them, he could see tunnels stretching deep down, further than should have been possible. He squinted into them, trying to keep his eyes from crossing, and far below, he saw a tiny circle of light. He leaned closer, trying to pick out more detail.

Then, without warning, he pitched forward, falling down the tunnel, the light rushing up to meet him, and he hit solid ground. Wincing, he propped himself up on his palms, glancing at his surroundings. He was in a Quidditch changing room, though he knew at once that it was not Gryffindor's. There was something off about the room, though it took him a while to figure out what it was. He realized that everything was slightly blurred around the edges, as though his glasses were fogged.

He heard a hushed, angry voice from nearby. "_You snivelly little shit!_" There was a dull thump.Harry took a tentative step forward, peering around a corner.

A young Malfoy, appearing again to be about a third year, stood pressed against the wall, clutching his right arm, his face obviously concealing pain. Marcus Flint towered over him, one hand planted against the wall to keep Malfoy from bolting for the door.

"I didn't tell him," Malfoy said, "I swear. I don't know how he found out."

Flint briefly lifted his hand from the wall and slammed it back so hard Malfoy flinched. When this got him no other reaction, he spoke again. "You're lucky the old man's so daft. But if he starts snooping around again, I might think about leaving more than just the team if I were you."

"My father—"

"Those brooms cost your father a fair fortune, yes?" Flint leaned in closer, his voice lowering until Harry had to strain to hear. "He thought he could buy you off, but he obviously knows how this works. How do you think he would react if he knew you destroyed the team he worked so hard to get you on?"

Malfoy did not answer, shrinking back against the wall.

"That's right," Flint said. When Malfoy tried to slink away, his hand shot out and grabbed Malfoy's arm, tightening until he winced. "Hold it. Didn't think you were getting away that easy, did you?" He gave a sharp tug on Malfoy's arm, flinging him so roughly he fell to the ground in spite of grabbing a bench to catch himself.

Harry had only to see Flint begin to undo his robes to realize what was happening. "_No!_" he shouted, stepping forward without thinking. To his surprise, Malfoy, who had been struggling to stand, froze and looked directly at him.

Harry felt a sharp tug, as though someone had seized the back of his robes and pulled. He soared up, back through the tunnel and away from the room so fast his stomach heaved. He shot back into his body with such force he was propelled backwards, hitting the floor with bruising force. He felt something warm running down his face and reached up to touch the skin just under his nose. His fingers came away bloody.

Malfoy was on top of him the next moment, straddling him, gripping a handful of his shirt. His breathing was harsh, eyes glaring out from a face that was whiter than Harry had ever seen it. Harry threw his arms up over his face, bracing himself for a blow.

It did not come. After a few moments, the grip on his shirt released and the pressure on his chest lifted. He lowered his arms. Malfoy was on his feet now, walking back and forth over a small distance his eyes wide open and unfocused, staring at the floor.

Harry sat up and climbed to his feet, watching Malfoy warily. His thoughts were a tumult of thoughts and emotions, entwined together until he could not pick out a single one. He had no idea what to say. There was nothing he_ could _say. Nothing that would excuse what he had seen.

The pacing was getting on his nerves. When Malfoy turned and started past him again, he reached out without thinking, grabbing his arm to stop him.

Malfoy whipped around at once, wrenching his arm from Harry's grasp and backed up until he was in the corner again. He stood with his back pressed against the wall, muscles rigid. Low wheezing noises issued from his flared nostrils in rapid spurts, his head bobbing forward slightly with each breath as though something was lodged in his throat.

"What?" Harry stepped forward but did not dare touch him again. "What's wrong?"

"I..." A red tinge was creeping across Malfoy's face as he panted heavily between words. "I...can't..." He clutched his chest, sucking in a long, strained breath. His knees gave out and he sat down hard, eyes darting around the room like a caged animal's.

In an instant, Harry's mind clicked. He understood. More importantly, he had an idea. "Come on," he said, stooping down and firmly gripping Malfoy's arm. "Get up."

Malfoy, still unable to speak, gave him a questioning look. He did not protest as Harry pulled him to his feet, but he made no effort to help either. Harry could not tell if he was resistant or just did not have the energy. It did not matter.

Harry led Malfoy a few steps, staying alert just in case he showed signs of collapsing again. When they were halfway to the door, he bent to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak. This was the turning point. If Malfoy broke down, Harry would have to take more drastic measures. Mentally preparing himself, he unfurled the cloak, making sure that Malfoy saw it, and pulled it over himself. Then, he lightly placed an arm around Malfoy's shoulders, pulling him under as well.

Malfoy stiffened the moment his back came in contact with Harry, sucking in a sharp breath, but managed to stay on his feet. Still, Harry kept a tight grip on Malfoy's shoulders as he led him to the door.

It was a stroke of luck that they met no one in the hallway. Walking under the cloak with another person was hard enough, but trying to lead a person who was nearly catatonic was next to impossible. In fact, Harry would have wagered that their footsteps were loud enough that the cloak would not make a bit of difference anyway.

When Harry reached the door, he was surprised to find it unlocked. Glancing around to make sure they were alone, he pushed it open so they could slip through.

The steps winding up to the top of the Astronomy Tower were coated with a thin layer of dust, its walls giving off a feeling of neglect. Trying to ignore the sinking in the pit of his stomach, Harry pressed on.

As hard as it was to get Malfoy to this point, leading him up the stairs was even worse. He shuffled his feet so that it took several moments to ascend even one step. As they neared the top, Harry had to resist the urge to push Malfoy forward, knowing that would just make him fall and probably bring Harry down on top of him.

Finally, they reached the door at the top of the staircase. Harry maneuvered around Malfoy and reached out to push the it open. It also swung open easily.

A blast of warm, muggy air hit them so hard Harry almost reeled. He forced himself to step forward, leading Malfoy out onto the roof. Rain fell from the sky in a heavy drizzle. In the distance, Harry could see a dull light on the horizon, sunrise dulled by thick storm clouds. He shut the door and pulled the cloak off, stepping away from Malfoy.

Malfoy wavered dangerously, but kept his footing. He stood in place for a long time, staring out toward the rising sun. Then, slowly, he began to move forward, one step at a time. Harry followed at a distance, still wary.

When Malfoy reached the edge of the roof, he stopped finally, resting his hands on the parapet and peering at the grounds below.

"This tower's off limits," Harry said in a low voice, justifying his reasons for going there as much to himself as Malfoy. "I doubt anyone will come up here."

Malfoy did not react.

Harry took a few steps forward until he stood at the wall a few feet from Malfoy. He turned his eyes to the ground as well, and his eyes went immediately to the spot where Dumbledore had fallen. He blinked and looked away, focusing instead on the rising sun to avoid looking at Malfoy. The thought of Dumbledore and Flint's words echoing through his head awakened something in the back of his mind. A memory that was not his own was playing out, one he had seen several weeks earlier: Malfoy in Dumbledore's office with the Slytherin Quidditch team. The details were fuzzy now, but he remembered enough.

"Dumbledore knew," he said. It all made sense now, though a part of him wished that it did not. "He knew, and he didn't do anything."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Malfoy shrug. "I denied it. So did Flint."

The question of why came to Harry's mind first, but when he opened his mouth, different words came out. "Then who told him?"

Malfoy paused. "Theodore Nott."

Another memory that was not Harry's own entered his mind, one he had only a glimpse of: Malfoy shoving Nott, hissing that he had told Nott something in confidence. He glanced at Malfoy, who was still distant. "Why did you tell him?"

He gave Malfoy a long time, but he did not answer. After a moment, he just blinked and cast his eyes down at the wet stone beneath his hands.

The rain was starting to lighten now, though the sky was still darkened by clouds. Harry shifted uncomfortably. "He was captured," he said.

"I know," Malfoy said in a monotone. "Snape told me. And anyway, I saw him in your memory, remember?"

"Right." Harry looked toward the horizon again. His head was starting to clear as the pieces fell into place. It was much easier now to see what information he was still missing. "Flint said your father was trying to buy you off," he said after a long silence. "He knew, too?"

"Of course he knew. He was on the team when he was here."

"What?"

"Initiation, Potter. You're telling me you didn't have one?"

Harry's lips parted slightly as he turned back to Malfoy, knowing he probably looked horrified. "No," was all he could manage.

To his surprise, Malfoy let out a small, sardonic laugh. "Damn," he muttered. "Always thought that'd be funny. You taking it from Wood."

Harry barely heard, as something else much more pressing had come to mind. "You were captain last year."

"And?"

"Did you...?" Harry could not bring himself to finish, so he trailed off.

Malfoy shook his head. "It's only the younger players. There weren't any last year."

The next question came to Harry's mind at once, but he hesitated for a long time, unsure of whether he wanted to know. "If there were," he said slowly, forcing himself to keep his focus on Malfoy, "would you have?"

Malfoy closed his eyes. Otherwise, he did not move or speak.

Harry cast his eyes downward, already regretting that he asked. "Second year," he muttered. In his mind, he saw a much younger Malfoy surrounded by his teammates, taunting Hermione. There was nothing on his face to suggest it. Not a single sign of weakness, even when he stood right beside Flint. "I had no idea." He barely realized that he had spoken.

Malfoy pushed away from the parapet suddenly, turning his back on Harry. "Don't feel sorry for me, Potter," he said. "I don't feel sorry for myself."

Harry looked up sharply. He was not sure what he expected Malfoy to say, but that certainly was not it. In fact, it seemed odd that he would not want any sympathy he could get, no matter who it came from. After all, he always had before.

Then again, that was not exactly true. For whatever reason, he had kept this secret to himself for this long, not telling a single person.

Except one.

But when Harry opened his mouth to speak again, Malfoy cut him off. "It's getting late," he said. "I should get back, before the elf shows up."

Harry blinked, as though waking from a trance. He turned and stooped to pick up the cloak without a word. This time, Malfoy stepped over to him on his own. As Harry draped the cloak over them, he suspected he was the more uncomfortable of the two this time. It did not help that his clothes were still damp from the rain. Still, he just took a deep breath and set himself to the task of moving back down the stairs.

As long as it took to get upstairs, it seemed to take even longer to get back down. Each stair was a battle as the two tried to coordinate their steps to avoid a painful fall to the bottom, yet neither dared to suggest taking off the cloak. Though Harry was almost certain that no one would come to the tower, the small amount of doubt was enough.

But they saw no one, not even in the corridors leading to the Room of Requirement. Since no one was inside, the door had disappeared. Harry knew that letting Malfoy out of sight was a bad idea, but he made a quick decision to take the risk. Glancing around to make sure the hall was clear, he ducked out from underneath the cloak. He quickly paced the three times in front of the wall, focusing on the room that he needed back.

When he pushed the door open, he wavered slightly. The room looked exactly as it had before except for one detail: a window had appeared on the left wall. Through it, he could see the gray morning sky. He stared at it, unsure of why it had appeared and wondering if it should trouble him as much as it did.

Something brushed past Harry and, after he closed the door, Malfoy appeared a few feet away, pulling the cloak off. His attention was focused on the window as well.

Harry tore his eyes away and turned to Malfoy, who was still soaked. That was not what drew his attention, however, as he noticed something that he had not before. "Where did you get those clothes?" he asked. With everything that had been going on, he had not thought about bringing Malfoy a change of clothes, and yet those black trousers and dark blue shirt that seemed a couple sizes too big were not the ones that Malfoy had been wearing when he came back from Snape and Aberforth's.

Malfoy turned from the window, too and moved over to the wardrobe, throwing open the door to reveal a mismatch of clothes. "They were here when Granger brought me," he said. "She must have specified them."

Harry felt a twinge of gratefulness toward Hermione for thinking so far ahead. He glanced at the door. "I should go."

Malfoy did not look around, but his shoulders stiffened slightly. "If you tell anyone—"

"I won't."

His reaction was small, the barest glance in Harry's direction, but his surprise was evident. Just as quickly, it disappeared as his face moved back into a mask of indifference, and he began to pull his shirt off.

Harry glanced away.

Malfoy dropped the shirt on the floor, looking at Harry again. "It's not like you haven't seen it before." He started to undo his belt.

Harry turned back in spite of himself. "Why do you do that?" he asked. "Why do you act like it doesn't matter?"

"Why do you act like it does?" Malfoy pulled his trousers off and stepped up to the wardrobe again, retrieving a clean pair of clothes.

Harry moved toward the door. Just as he reached for the doorknob, however, it turned, and the door swung open. Dobby stood on the other side, carrying a tray of breakfast.

"Harry Potter!" the elf said, shifting the tray to one hand and bowing as low as he could manage without upsetting it or his tower of hats. "Dobby's sorry he's late. He can bring more food for Harry Potter." He glanced at Malfoy, who had just finished pulling his shirt on and wavered slightly.

"That's okay, Dobby," Harry said. "I'll just go to the Great Hall."

Dobby looked a bit more troubled. "Breakfast is almost over."

"Oh," Harry said, searching for something he could say to put Dobby at ease. He drew a blank. "I'll just wait for lunch then." He stepped around the elf and out the door, resisting the urge to glance back at Malfoy one last time.

-

Hermione caught up with Harry again after lunch. He knew what this was about, so he wordlessly followed as she led the way out onto the grounds and away from the school. Finally, she stopped by a small grove of trees, turning back to him. "So," she said, "what did Snape want to talk about?"

Instinct told Harry not to tell her, but he knew she would be able to find out anyway. Still, he had a headache, so he answered in the shortest way he could. "He wants to teach me Occlumency."

To his surprise, a look of intense relief came over her face. "I hoped he would," she said. "So, when are your lessons starting?"

He glanced away, taking a few steps to put some distance between them. "I'm not going."

"What?" Hermione reappeared on his left side, staring at him incredulously. "How can you still say that after—"

"I already told you. I couldn't learn from him before. I won't now."

"So, you won't even try?"

"I won't waste my time. Besides, I think they're hiding something from us."

She wavered. "What do you mean?"

"Snape was making a potion when I got there, and Aberforth said something about wards." He wanted to say something about the closed door that had made him so uneasy, but he could not find a good way to describe it. It did not help that the bright sunlight was starting to get to him.

"Well, obviously they have to have wards around the property to make sure no one finds them."

"There was something else going on. Aberforth seemed really eager to get me out. And they—" The pain in his mind swelled, and he groaned involuntarily, touching a hand to his forehead. It was not his scar. Rather, it felt as though something was tearing in the very center of his head, like a wedge driven into his brain.

Hermione's hand brushed his arm. "I knew it. You're not better, are you? Please—"

"It's nothing." Harry dropped his hand, trying to cover his unease. "Just a headache."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak again but stopped, glancing around him. "I have to go. I want to talk about this later though."

As she hurried away, Harry turned to see what had distracted her. Professor McGonagall and the Auror Roland Davidson had just stepped out of the castle and seemed to be discussing something in low tones. They stopped when Hermione approached. McGonagall focused on Hermione for a moment, said something to Davidson, and sent him off in the direction of the forest. Harry watched Hermione and McGonagall, wondering what they were talking about, but he could not think of a way to eavesdrop without them noticing. He reluctantly looked away, picked a direction at random, and started walking.

His mind did not stay on Hermione for long. It focused instead on the ache in his mind, which had not gone away but instead deepened. The feeling had ebbed for long enough the previous day that he had thought maybe it was just his imagination, but it was back and now there was no denying it. Hermione was right. He was not better. The rift in his head was reopening, which meant that he would have to go back to Malfoy as soon as possible to find out why.

-

Harry ate dinner quickly that night and left the Great Hall early to avoid Hermione. He needed more time to think about what he would say when she confronted him. More importantly, he needed to sleep first. Before he could do that, he needed to find out what was going on with his mind.

When he reached the Room of Requirement, he found Malfoy sitting in the desk chair by the window, which he had opened as wide as he could. He showed no sign of noticing Harry enter, but when the door shut, he spoke in a low voice. "It's an illusion."

"What?" Harry asked.

Malfoy reached a hand toward the open window. His fingers moved about an inch past the window frame before stopping, as though they had met an invisible wall.

"Makes sense," Harry said. "Where would the window lead to?"

Malfoy lowered his hand and did not say anything for a long time. "What are you doing here?" he asked finally.

"I need you to check my mind again." Harry could not allow himself to think too long about anything else for risk of getting off track. "I think the repairs are breaking down."

Malfoy blinked, keeping his eyes focused on the window for a moment longer. "Lay down. I'll see what I can do."

Harry did so and, a moment later, Malfoy appeared above him, adjusting his chair so he was staring down at him. "You know how this works," he muttered. He placed his hands on either side of Harry's head and stared.

Harry calmed his mind and waited.

And waited.

At first, he thought maybe his own mind was not calm enough. After all, the pain, though slight now, was distracting. Then he noticed that Malfoy's forehead was scrunched, as though he was concentrating hard. He let go and straightened up, shaking his head.

Harry tensed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Malfoy said shortly. He gripped Harry's head and leaned closer this time, his eyes boring into Harry's.

Harry fought to calm himself again. After a long while he finally felt himself start to sink down the dark tunnel. About halfway down, he lurched suddenly, falling several feet before coming to a halting stop, suspended in midair. His heart raced as he stared up through the darkness at Malfoy's face, which was so far away he could barely see it anymore.

Just as he started to calm, he felt himself begin to move again, making the rest of the trip in short bursts until his feet finally touched down. Thrown slightly, he stumbled, his legs collapsing. He reached out to catch himself and his hands hit something cold, spongy, and slightly sticky. As he sat trying to regain his bearings, he felt a slight vibration through the ground, as though something was moving just below the surface. He pulled his hands away at once, his stomach turning.

He heard a low hum above him, and by the time he looked up, a soft silvery glow lit the tunnel. He blinked at the sudden light, squinting. As things came back into focus, he saw the crisscross of silver threads, forming an intricate weaving that spanned the tunnel, reaching up as far as the eye could see.

About fifteen feet over his head, however, the threads thinned to just a few strands. Several others hung down as though they had snapped, fluttering in a non-existent wind. Around the perimeter of the tunnel, broken strands clung to the walls. As he watched, the walls began to crackle with electricity. At the same time, he felt a brief swell in his headache.

As his eyes moved downward again, he scrambled to his feet, wrinkling his nose. The ground was a mass of dead, gray tissue with indentations filled with dried, dark liquid, forming streams interspersed with bits of red that slowly bubbled up to the surface. Harry glanced at his hands, which were covered in the same substance, drying into a dark red crust that made bile rise in his throat. He quickly wiped his hands off on his trousers.

"Remind me again why you can't do Occlumency?"

Harry looked around to see Malfoy standing a few feet away. "What was that?" he asked.

Malfoy ignored him, staring at the ground with a sickened expression. "I said it before," he said, "your imagination is too good." He stooped and stretched his hand toward the ground. His hand jumped back briefly, as though he was afraid of being shocked, before settling down again. He closed his eyes.

Harry watched uneasily. Though he did not have a clear idea of what was going on, seeing Malfoy touch that gray tissue made his skin crawl.

After a tense silence, Malfoy finally withdrew his hand. "Cold spot," he muttered.

"What?" Harry did not like the sound of that.

Malfoy straightened up, shaking his head. "I don't know how you managed it. You didn't just rip out the threads." He waved his hand at the ground. "This whole area is dead space. Fried, all of it."

"Can you fix it?"

"Do you not know the meaning of the word 'dead?'"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry said with sarcasm to mask his fear. "Was that you being helpful?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Malfoy shot back. "So tell me something useful. When did the headaches start?"

"I had one yesterday while I was here. It went away, but it came back after lunch today."

"Hmm..." Malfoy glanced upwards. When Harry followed his gaze, he saw the threads vibrate dangerously, emitting a low humming noise. "It was when I mentioned quidditch, wasn't it?"

Harry felt a spike in his headache. At the same moment, the humming reached a crescendo and a handful of threads snapped with a sound like a clap of thunder.

"I'll take that as a yes. It must have started then. Something else must have triggered it today, but we won't worry about that just yet."

"So, what are we going to do?" Harry asked, keeping a wary eye on the threads.

He expected another sarcastic comment, but Malfoy shook his head at the ground instead. "I think the biggest problem here is containment. I'm going to have to block off the dead spot. Hopefully that will stop it from spreading."

"'Hopefully?'"

"Well, this isn't exactly first year potions. Now, shut it. Unless you want to wind up a permanent resident of St. Mungo's." He seemed to take Harry's unresponsiveness for compliance and moved to the center of the tunnel. "I'll try not to block off more than I have to."

Harry did not find that particularly reassuring. Still, he knew this was his only choice.

Malfoy crouched down again, holding his hand out, fingers spread, palm facing down. "Brace yourself. I don't know what this will feel like, but I don't imagine it'll be rainbows and waterfalls." With that, he went silent.

Harry had a brief view of the silver bolt of light that shot out from Malfoy's hand, burying itself into the ground. A sharp, stabbing pain, like a dagger ripped through his mind. It was on par with the worst of the pains he had had in his scar but buried deep in his brain instead of on the surface. He clutched his head, sinking to his knees as it intensified.

Then the dagger split, bolts of agony shooting off in two directions. Then, those two split again. And again. He lost count of the number as they radiated out from the center of his head, arching upward. Bile rose in his throat. He retched, but the noise was lost to the roaring in his ears. He could not breathe. Something metallic coated his tongue, sliding down his throat, choking him. This was a mistake. He never should have come here. The pain of the fissure in his mind was a splinter compared to this. He wanted nothing more than for it to end. He no longer cared how as long as it was over.

Just as the threads converged at a peak and Harry began to wonder how much more he could take, the pain seemed to plateau. Then, slowly, it started to decline.

An unintelligible voice echoed from far away. Harry opened his eyes, but all he could see were shadows of gray and darker gray.

He felt himself lurch to one side. He became aware again of the blockage in his throat and coughed, sending up something warm and tasting of metal along with something so foul he wretched again. He tried to breathe and realized his nose was blocked, too, sinuses clogged and pounding to the beat of his pulse.

More of his vision faded in. He was aware of a dark shape underneath him, dropping off only inches in front of him. Other shapes loomed in the distance, but they were too far to see in any detail. His cheek rested against something soft and damp with warm liquid that seemed to be trickling from his mouth and nose.

"Are you back, Potter?" The voice spoke again, much closer.

Harry tried to speak, but something must have misfired along the way. He tried again. And again.

Something moved into his vision so abruptly another wave of nausea swept over him, but he was too exhausted to do anything about it. All he could do was lie there as the grays lightened and darkened and lightened again before finally coming to a stop. The shadows slowly began to sharpen, until he could make out the vague outline of a pale face with sunken eyes.

"Give me something here. Blink once for yes. Are you back?"

Harry stared. Then, he lowered his eyelids and raised them sluggishly.

"Are you in pain?"

He closed his eyes again, barely managing to open them this time.

He heard a sigh and saw a rush of gray shades again. "I'll be back, Potter. Don't try to move." He heard a rustling noise, followed by creak and a thud that slammed through his mind like an avalanche. He closed his eyes again and let out a rush of air. He could not have moved even if he wanted to. The mere act of breathing sapped his energy, leaving him teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. Seeing no reason to delay the inevitable, he let go, allowing the gray world to plunge into blackness.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter (this one's a bit vague because the sequence of the next couple chapters is still kind of shaky): Fevers, pain, and numbness. Feeling nothing can bring great relief, but at what cost?


	34. Chapter 34: Unfeeling

Author's Note: Thanks to all reviewers. Apparently I've been writing a lot lately, since I've been updating so much faster than usual. I don't really have any issues to address this chapter, so enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 34: Unfeeling

Harry's vision was too sharp. The colors, though muted in the darkness, were too much. He squeezed his eyes shut. The first thought that crossed his mind was that he should have been in pain. He could not remember what had happened before he fell asleep, but he remembered pain. Presently, his entire body just felt numb, his mind cloudy. The only part of himself that he was aware of, strangely, was his mouth. His tongue felt three sizes too big for his mouth and was coated in something bitter tasting. He coughed and felt his throat convulse in a way that also should have been painful.

A muffled shuffling sound met his ears. Something gripped his shoulder lightly. "You waking up, Potter?" The voice was just as sharp as the colors, and though it did not hurt his ears, Harry still winced, shrinking away. "No time for that. Come on."

Harry forced his eyes open again, squinting as they started to water. In spite of his initial reaction, he noticed now that things were still blurred around the edges and realized that he was not wearing his glasses. Malfoy's blurry face towered over him, appearing upside-down in his field of vision. Harry let out a rush of air. "W..."

"Brace yourself." Before Harry could even think, Malfoy leaned closer, slipping his hands under Harry's shoulders, and lifted. Images rushed past Harry's eyes so fast they ran together, and he felt something warm rise in his throat, flooding his mouth with a sour taste. He coughed again and liquid dribbled down his chin.

He felt movement behind him. Something pressed against his lower back while Malfoy's hands pushed his shoulders so that he leaned forward. "Let it out," Malfoy's voice said close by. "It'll come up sooner or later."

Harry sputtered and retched for several agonizing moments before his stomach finally settled. When he had stopped for a while, the pressure on his shoulders eased, allowing him to sit up straighter, though he still slumped slightly. Something shifted behind him and one hand released him the other moving between his shoulder-blades to keep him upright. Then the hand moved again, gently pulling him back until his shoulder rested against something warm and solid. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy and realized that the something was his chest.

Malfoy's other hand appeared in his vision with a glass of water, placing it in Harry's hand. Harry's grip was weak, so Malfoy clamped down on his fingers to keep them from slipping, guiding the glass up to his lips.

The water was room-temperature and trickled down his throat, making him cough again. "Slowly," Malfoy said. "I don't want to do this twice."

Harry took a few more sips before turning his head to the side to catch his breath, feeling a small amount of water splash over his face. Malfoy took the glass away and briefly supported Harry one-handed while he set it on the floor. When he straightened back up, he settled Harry against his chest again, though this time his face seemed much closer, his chin inches from resting on Harry's shoulder. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked.

Harry's first instinct was to shake his head, but something nagged in his mind. He waited and it began to come back to him in bits and pieces. The tunnel. The cold rivulets of thick, black liquid. Silver threads.

Pain.

He nodded.

He heard a small rush of air. "I gave you a potion for the pain. Is it working?"

Harry nodded again, closing his eyes to let them rest a while. It occurred to him that he should be asking questions, but he could not find the energy to.

"You'll have to take it easy for a while. I don't know how long it'll take your mind to heal." Malfoy paused. "I'm going to need an actual response here. I tried not to block off more than I had to, but I have to make sure nothing's damaged in there."

Harry took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to give himself a moment to think. "Where..." He stopped abruptly as he rethought the question, trying to pry better words from the fog in his mind. "How did you get the potion?" he asked finally, annoyed with how weak his voice sounded.

Malfoy did not seem to notice. "I took your cloak and snuck into the hospital wing. I got enough potion to last about two days. If you need more, you'll have to swipe it yourself."

A new question nagged Harry's mind, but he did not say it out loud. How had Malfoy been able to leave? The room had been set up specifically so that only Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Dobby could get in. At least, that was what he had thought. Had he unconsciously changed the way the door worked, just as he had included the chessboard and added the window?

"You feel all right to stand?"

"What?" Harry asked, forcing himself back to the present.

"Have you looked at yourself, Potter?"

Harry glanced down and nearly retched again when he saw the dried blood and vomit crusted on his shirt.

Malfoy seemed to take his silence to mean that he had no objections. He stood, keeping a grip on Harry's shoulders to keep him steady.

Harry took another deep breath and slowly kicked his legs over the side of the bed. His pathetic attempt to stand only lifted him a few inches off the bed, so Malfoy slipped his hands under Harry's arms to help. Between the two of them, they managed to get Harry to his feet, where he swayed dangerously. His legs felt as though they were made of rubber, wobbling and bowing under his weight, even with Malfoy holding him up.

"You'll adjust after a while," Malfoy said. "Come on."

The short walk to the bathroom was agonizing. Harry's mind was still hazy, but he was coherent enough to feel incredibly agitated. It was as though only half of each action he tried made it through. If he tried to take a step, his foot only shuffled a few inches. He tried taking larger steps, but that resulted in more wavering and several near falls. Malfoy caught him each time, but he was starting to look strained. It struck Harry that Malfoy, once equal to him in size, seemed to have shrunken, his skin drawn tight over the bone. Harry knew that he himself had lost weight, too, but not nearly as much as Malfoy.

As they finally reached the bathroom, Harry reached out to grasp the counter, partly to catch himself and partly to relieve Malfoy of the burden of holding him up. Malfoy did not take time to rest, however. He moved immediately to the bathtub, turning on the faucet and holding his hand under the stream as he adjusted the temperature. He straightened up again after a few moments, shaking his hand dry. Then he moved back to Harry, reaching for his shirt.

Harry stumbled back a few steps, locking his hands around the counter to keep from falling. "What...what the hell are you doing?"

Malfoy just narrowed his eyes. "If you want to crack your head open, go right on ahead. But don't fake modesty."

Harry felt himself flush and glanced away furiously. It was then that he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Besides the slight red tinge to his cheeks, the rest of his face was ashen. Dried blood crusted between his upper lip and nose, running down around his mouth to his chin where it had dripped onto his shirt. He did not just look ill. He looked as though he should have been on his death bed. He forced himself to look away.

When Malfoy reached for his shirt again, he put up no resistance. He was able to keep his footing well enough to release the counter for Malfoy to get the shirt over his head, but he quickly latched onto it again afterward, not wanting to take any chances. As Malfoy started to undo Harry's belt, he glanced away, focusing on the floor.

By the time Harry was undressed, the bathtub had filled. Malfoy shut off the faucet and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, leading him over to it, even reaching down to help lift his legs when he could not step up high enough to get in. After some trial, Harry finally stood in the tepid water. Malfoy supported him as he sat down slowly until his back rested against the wall of the tub, the water reaching to his chest. His legs, stretched out in front of him, felt numb and useless.

"I'll be back by the time you're done," Malfoy said, turning away.

Harry did not even look around, just listened as the door creaked shut. Then he was alone in silence broken only by the occasional drip of water from the faucet. He stared at it for a long time, his eyes unfocused. He blinked and shook his head, reaching for the bar of soap.

It took Harry some trial and error scrubbing his skin until it burned an angry red to realize that he just could not feel the pain. Deciding that he should probably stop, he set the soap aside and slid into the bath, bending his knees until he was lying down, his eyes squeezed shut against the soapy water. He had only meant to wet his hair, but now that he was there, the act of sitting back up seemed too much. It was easier to just lie there, holding in his breath as long as he could, letting it out when he could no longer. It did not even hurt.

He heard an echoing creak and pounding that shook the tub around him. Hands seized his shoulders and hauled him out of the water. Harry coughed and choked automatically, water spraying out from his mouth. His vision blacked out for a moment as he struggled for breath, finally clearing up as he settled back against the tub wall again.

Malfoy, who knelt on the floor, released him and sat back on his heels. "There's easier ways to kill yourself," he said.

"I..." Harry coughed again, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand. "I wasn't—"

"Right." Malfoy stood and held out his hand. "Get up then."

Harry stared at the hand for a long time before taking it, bracing his other hand on the side of the bathtub. It seemed easier to stand this time, though he still wavered slightly. He was able to step out of the tub without much help. Malfoy handed him a towel and he stood on the spot, drying himself off. Once he had finished, Malfoy wordlessly waved his hand at a set of clean clothes on the counter and stood aside. As Harry dressed, he could feel Malfoy's eyes watching him closely for any sign that he would fall.

Afterwards, they stood staring at each other for a long time. "I can't carry you everywhere," Malfoy said finally, crossing his arms over his chest.

Harry glanced toward the door, which seemed a million miles away. He took a small, shuffling step forward, expecting to lose his balance. He didn't. He took another, larger step and then another. His legs still felt unsteady and distant from his body, but he pressed on, reaching out as soon as he was in range to grasp the doorknob. He leaned on the door, trying to slow his racing heart.

"Very good, Potter," Malfoy said with heavy sarcasm. "You can walk. Should we cover how to use the toilet next?"

"Shut up," Harry snapped.

To his surprise, Malfoy looked almost relieved to hear this. "You're fine," he said, walking out into the room. "Just keep a low profile." He moved to the desk and picked up a vial of violet potion and Harry's glasses to bring back to him. "Take this whenever you feel the pain coming back. One sip should do it. Careful; any more than three will probably knock you out. Keep it out of sight. Granger will know something's wrong if she sees it."

"Got it," Harry said, taking the vial and slipping it into his pocket. He put the glasses on and groaned as his vision sharpened. He blinked several times to stop his eyes watering.

Meanwhile, Malfoy had already stooped to pick up the Invisibility Cloak and held that out as well.

Harry hesitated to take it. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

Malfoy just rolled his eyes. "I've answered that before. Go."

_Self-preservation,_ Harry's mind supplied the answer as he pulled the cloak on.

It took him a while to make the trek to Gryffindor Tower. By the time he arrived, he was breathing harshly. The sun had just started to rise when he reached the common room, which was empty. He pulled the cloak off and settled down in an armchair, swallowing a few times to ward off nausea.

He did not have to wait long for someone to interrupt his moment to himself. What surprised him was that the disturbance came not from the dormitory stairs, but from the portrait hole. The portrait opened and Hermione stepped in, tucking something into her pocket. She stopped in her tracks when she saw him. "Oh, Harry," she said. "You're up early."

"So are you," Harry pointed out.

"I thought I'd get in some early research." She stepped forward and stopped, her expression turning to concern. "Are you all right?"

Harry sat up straighter. "I'm fine."

She looked him over with a critical eye and moved toward him again. He resisted the urge to pull away as she sat on the arm of his chair, pressing a hand to his forehead. Her eyes widened. "You're burning up."

Harry tried not to let his surprise show on his face. He did not feel feverish. "I'm fine," he said more insistently. "Did you find anything in the library?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing we didn't already know. Harry?" Her voice raised in alarm when he leaned forward slightly, clutching his head as his vision blurred. "Your head's hurting, isn't it? Please—"

"No," Harry said, lowering his hand. "It's not."

Hermione looked as though she wanted to say something else about it, but she just shook her head and stood. "I have to go check something. I'll see you at breakfast."

Harry stared after her, wondering if her vagueness was deliberate. Unfortunately, he could not say anything. Even if she was hiding something, he knew better than to call her out on it. After all, he was not exactly the model of truthfulness lately either.

Besides, his mind was soon consumed by something else. He was starting to feel warm. Very warm, in fact. He pulled the potion vial from his pocket but did not take it. Instead, he took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned forward, pressing his hands hard over his eyes and concentrating. He could feel something in his head, but he could not tell if it was pain. He wanted to be sure before he took the potion.

The first stab made him jerk so badly he almost dropped the vial. The second made him sit up, his neck bending backwards as his muscles clenched and his face contorted. As the pain began to retreat again, he uncorked the vial with shaking fingers and lifted it to his lips, resisting the urge to take more than a small sip of the bitter potion. He barely got the cork back on the bottle before the third wave hit, making him choke. He swallowed several times to force the potion down his throat, pocketed the vial, and leaned back, squeezing his eyes shut and waiting.

The pain ebbed away and, after several moments, he relaxed. The feeling of warmth had gone away as well. Not wanting to face more inquiries about his health, he braced his hands on the arms of the chair. It took two tries, but he was able to stand on his own with only a slight waver. He started toward the portrait hole.

"You're here."

Harry turned to see Ron standing at the foot of the dormitory stairs. "Well-spotted," Harry said. "Are you going to tell me I have black hair next?"

Ron let out a burst of air, shaking his head as he stepped into the common room. "If you're just going to—"

"Look, I'm really not in the mood for this right now," Harry interrupted, casually leaning back against the wall. He did not trust himself to stay upright on his own.

Ron stopped in his tracks, folding his arms. "You know, it's funny. It seems like you never are."

"Forgive me if I don't like being treated like I'm diseased," Harry said, keeping his eyes cast slightly downward to avoid looking directly at Ron.

"Then stop acting like it." Ron sighed again. "I didn't come here to argue. I just thought you'd want to know I think Hermione's catching on. She's been asking me questions, and I saw her interrogating Dobby in the hall yesterday. I didn't catch much, but I heard your name and Malfoy's."

Harry clamped his jaw shut and briefly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. In an attempt to keep from seeming too overwhelmed, he looked up. "Why are you telling me?"

"Because I'm tired of this. If it helps, I'm sorry. And if it'll help to talk about it, I think we should."

Harry focused on Ron's face for the first time, trying to detect any hint of insincerity. He did not find any, which made it that much harder to reply. He looked away, though it did little to help. "I can't talk about it," he said truthfully.

Ron did not speak for several moments. "Hermione told me you turned down Occlumency lessons," he said finally. "Is it because of him?"

Harry's vision in his right eye started to blur around the edges and he took a deep breath. "I don't need..." he trailed off, glancing toward the dormitory stairs, where Neville had appeared, freezing in the middle of a yawn.

"Am I interrupting something?" Neville asked.

"I was just leaving," Harry said, turning toward the portrait hole. He almost expected Ron to try to stop him, but he imagined Neville's presence stopped him.

He noticed the increased blurriness in his eyes as he crawled through the portrait hole. When he reached the other side, he stumbled out, trying to breathe in sharply, but only a small amount of air made it through, as though his throat had partially collapsed. Half-blind, he groped for the wall, but his legs gave out first, and he hit the ground. He felt only a slight pressure against his skin where he hit the stone floor, but when he tried to move again, he found himself hindered. He head a slur of voices and saw blurred colors moving over him, but his vision had already started to darken.

-

When Harry woke, he was confused about why he could not move. His limbs did not feel leaden. In fact, they did not feel like much of anything, though there was a slight pressure on his back and his legs. He shifted slightly and felt himself sink downward. Something brushed his chin.

"He's waking up," a tinny voice said.

Harry felt pressure on his shoulders and a lifting sensation, accompanied by the sound of splashing water. Confused, he opened his eyes in slits, squinting through the bright light until his vision adjusted. He saw the white porcelain of a bathtub around him. He was lying at an angle in it, his bare legs bent up slightly and the water reaching up nearly to the top of his chest. He could see large, purple bruises on his arm, but they did not hurt. Hands that had gripped his shoulders released and he glanced up to see Madam Pomfrey crouched beside the bathtub. Ron stood a few feet away, looking on with a tense expression. A curtain was pulled around them, encompassing the bathtub and one of the hospital wing beds.

Madam Pomfrey pressed a hand to Harry's forehead, then moved it to his chin, tilting his head up so he looked at her. "You still with us, Mr. Potter?"

"What...?" Harry stopped briefly, surprised by how slurred his voice sounded. "What happened?"

"You spiked a fever," she replied. She glanced back at Ron. "He's still a bit warm, but I think we can put him back in bed for now." She waved her wand and the water vanished, leaving Harry sitting naked in the bathtub.

Ron nodded and moved to the other side of the tub, stooping down, and they each grabbed Harry by the upper arm. He tried to pull away, still convinced that he could stand on his own, but all he managed was a weak struggle that they did not even seem to notice as they hauled him to his feet. Harry stood precariously on legs he could barely feel, unable to look at either of them while they helped him out of the tub, practically lifting him out when his muscles refused to cooperate. His stomach twisted in shame at his helplessness as Madam Pomfrey and Ron dressed him like a doll in a thin t-shirt and shorts. When they finished, they half-carried him to the bed and slowly laid him down on top of the sheets.

Madam Pomfrey handed him his glasses. "All right," she said to a spot over her shoulder.

Harry heard a whoosh as the curtains pulled back to reveal Hermione on the other side, her face matching Ron's.

Madam Pomfrey drew a thin piece of cloth from her pocket along with a bottle of translucent blue potion. She poured a generous amount of the potion onto the cloth. As she worked the potion into the cloth, the blue tinge slowly faded away into nothing, at which point she pressed it against Harry's forehead. "Keep that on," she said. Then, she turned back to the others. "The potion monitors his temperature," she explained. "He still has the fever, so a bit of pink is fine. If it turns red or starts towards blue, come find me right away."

"We will," Hermione said.

Madam Pomfrey nodded, drew back the curtain the rest of the way, and left the room.

"What happened?" Harry asked again, hoping to get a better answer.

"You fainted outside the common room," Ron said. "Neville and I brought you here."

"You were in bad shape," Hermione said. "Your fever was so high, Madam Pomfrey was afraid it might do permanent damage."

"But why the bath?" Harry asked. "Why didn't she just give me a potion?"

Hermione hesitated. "She did. It seemed to help for a bit. We even thought you were waking up one point, but then your temperature just started dropping. Madam Pomfrey couldn't get it to stabilize, so she had to neutralize the potion and start the baths." She glanced at Ron briefly, looking troubled.

"What?" Harry asked.

"When you were having your fever," she said, "you started having convulsions, but...you didn't sweat. And then, when your temperature started dropping, you never shivered. At all."

Harry shrugged. "What's that have to do with anything?"

"Harry, that's not normal. It means your body...your brain...isn't responding to temperature."

Harry fought back a swell of panic, gritting his teeth to keep his expression neutral. Was this an effect of the silvery threads snaked through his head, closing off the dead part of his mind? Malfoy had told him he was fine, but what did that mean? That he could walk, talk, think, but something else had been lost?

While these thoughts ran through Harry's mind, Hermione turned back to Ron. "One of us should probably go tell Neville he's awake." She made no move to volunteer herself.

Ron's eyes flitted briefly to Harry, but he nodded. "I'll do it." He turned for the door and walked away without looking back.

As Hermione pulled a chair up to the bed, Harry turned his eyes toward the ceiling. "You can go with him," he said. "I don't need a pity party."

"That's not why I'm staying," she said. "I need to talk to you."

Harry did not say, but it was not because he had nothing to say. Rather, something had distracted him. The feeling of uncomfortable warmth had returned, though slightly dulled this time, almost too faint to notice.

Hermione seemed to take his silence for coldness. "I know this is a bad time, but...well, there's really never a good time for this. And I think we really need to get this out, because in your delirium you...you said things. I don't think Ron or Madam Pomfrey knew what they meant, of course, but—"

"Hermione?" Harry said to the ceiling, unmoving, hardly daring to breathe as the uncomfortable itching of his bruised arm became more insistent.

"Yeah?"

"Where are my clothes?"

"What?"

"My—" Harry's words twisted into a groan as the first wave hit, his eyes squeezing shut and his back arching.

"Harry?" Hermione said. He felt a tight grip on his shoulder.

The pain started to ebb and he squinted up at her, knowing he did not have much time. "My pocket. There's a—" The next stab hit so hard he wrenched out of her grasp.

When he was able to open his eyes again, he saw her across the room, reaching into the pocket of a pair of trousers folded in a chair. She withdrew the violet potion, staring at it with wide eyes. "This is..."

Harry let out a stifled yell as his head received another hit. The worst yet, it felt as though his brain was splitting in two. He twisted and writhed, desperate to find a position that would take the edge off the pain. He felt a hand on his face and tried to pull away, the touch only adding to his agony, but the grip tightened, forcing his jaw open. He tasted something bitter and his neck tensed and arched backwards, his throat working to swallow.

Then, it was over. He fell back down onto the bed, breathing raggedly. It took several moments for him to open his eyes again.

When he did, he found Hermione staring down at him, her mouth set in a thin line, the potion still in her hand. "Do you know what this is?" she asked in a low voice.

Harry shrugged. "It's a pain potion."

"It's _Desdolor_. This is why you reacted to that potion. Your brain can't regulate your body temperature."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. If you have pain, you deal with it. You ask for help. You don't steal a class C restricted potion and kill your nervous system!"

"I need it."

"Do you know what this potion is used for? It's used for people who are dying. People with so much pain it's driving them mad."

"Did you not just see me? I can't _function_ without it."

Hermione watched him for a long time. Then she set the potion the table. "Fine," she said, "but before you take it again, I want you to think about what its doing to you."

Harry stared back at her. He had half expected her to turn him in. The last thing he expected her to do was give the potion back. Still, when he glanced away, he spent a long time looking at the little vial before finally taking it, slipping it into his pocket.

Hermione turned away and sat in the chair again. Silence filled the air as the tension between them rose. She seemed anxious, as though she had other things to do.

They did not have to sit at odds for long. The door soon opened again. Harry had expected Ron, so he was a bit surprised when Professor McGonagall stepped through. "Miss Granger," she said, "I would like to have a word with Mr. Potter alone."

Hermione nodded and, without a glance at Harry, walked out the door.

Professor McGonagall waited until she was gone before approaching the bed, stopping a few feet away. "Mr. Weasley told me you'd woken. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Harry said, folding his arms over his chest. He knew she had not come just to ask how he was.

"That's good to hear," she said, "though I do wonder. You've been here twice in just a little over a week with symptoms Madam Pomfrey can't explain."

"I'm fine," he said again. "I've just been feeling a little off lately."

"Some teachers have expressed concerns that your...condition...might interfere with what we're trying to do here, specifically when the other students begin to arrive."

"I don't have a condition."

She smiled a little. "Relax, Mr. Potter. I'm not asking you to leave. I'm just asking you to take it easy for a while. Get plenty of sleep. Try not to stress yourself."

"Okay."

"I'm serious. If your visits to the hospital wing start to become a problem, I may have to rethink my stance."

Harry just nodded.

Professor McGonagall returned the nod and moved toward the door. "You can come on in," she said. Ron appeared in the doorway, followed by Neville. They stepped to the side, letting her by.

"So, it was just an infection then?" Neville said as the two approached, sitting in chairs by Harry's bed.

"Yeah," Ron replied, glancing once at Harry.

"Seems like a lot of fuss for an infection," Neville said. He nodded at Harry. "What's the cloth for?"

"She's just being cautious," Ron said. "In case the fever spikes again."

"If you're going to talk about me like I'm not here..." Harry said, brushing the cloth off his forehead. He kicked his legs over the side of the bed.

"Sorry," Neville said.

"You can't leave," Ron said. "Madam Pomfrey said she's not releasing you before dinner."

"Well, she's not here, is she?" Harry settled his feet on the floor and pushed himself up. He expected to waver, but he stood tall, his legs holding strongly. "Just tell her I—"

"No," Ron interrupted. "I'm done making excuses for you." He turned on his heel and left the room.

Neville looked between Harry and the door for a moment. "What do you want me to tell her?"

Harry sighed. "Nothing. Just tell her I left." He started for the door.

-

"You're early," Malfoy said. He sat leaning against the wall near the window, which was still open, the chess board lying in front of him. "You look like shit."

"Yeah," Harry said as he closed the door. "Passing out tends to do that to a person."

Malfoy's shoulders stiffened. "You passed out?"

"Apparently I had a fever and I couldn't feel it. You want to explain that to me?"

Malfoy relaxed slightly. "The fever's just a reaction to the blockade. It'll get better as you adjust."

"What about—?"

"The potion dulls pain. All pain."

"I know. Hermione told me."

The panic returned as Malfoy shot to his feet. "You told Granger?!"

"The pain came back while she was with me. If I hadn't, more people would've found out."

"They might as well have!"

"She won't tell anyone."

Malfoy scoffed. "Right."

Harry sighed. "Look, I didn't come here to talk about Hermione. I need a different potion."

"That potion's the strongest there is."

"It's too strong. I need a weaker one."

"The next step down won't even take the edge off."

Harry hesitated. "What?"

"Do you think I would've risked breaking into Pomfrey's private stores if there was any other potion that would work?" Malfoy asked. "That's it. Take it or leave it."

Harry said nothing in response. He was trapped. He could not stop taking the potion. Not without landing himself back in the hospital wing. And, after what Professor McGonagall had said, that was the last thing he wanted.

"If that's all then," Malfoy said, setting the chess pieces back to their starting places, "I assume you'll be taking white."

"I didn't come here to play games."

"This isn't a game. With your mind still unstable, I can't go in to make sure its working properly. Which means I have to test in other ways."

Harry narrowed his eyes. Then he sighed, stepping forward and sitting down. "Pawn to C-4," he said simply and watched the piece step forward, beginning the game.

At one point, after he moved one of his bishops, Harry began to feel warm, Knowing what was coming, he pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Pain?" Malfoy asked.

"Not yet," Harry muttered. "It's coming though."

"Then don't wait for it."

Harry glanced up, staring at Malfoy through narrow eyes. Then, he pulled the potion from his pocket, took a drink, and waited. For a moment, he thought maybe it had not worked as a small twitch began to form in his brain, but it subsided. "Bishop to D-3," he said.

Malfoy took a long time to make his moves. When he did, the moves he made seemed nonsensical to Harry. Even when Harry saw ways that his own pieces could be taken, Malfoy did not seem to. Neither, however, did Harry see any ways for him to take any of Malfoy's pieces. It seemed that he was always one step ahead, keeping just out of Harry's range.

"What are you doing?" Harry said finally when Malfoy moved his queen without even looking at the board.

"Exactly what I said," Malfoy replied. "The point isn't to beat you. It's to see if you can make logical moves."

"How am I doing so far?"

"Same as..." Malfoy trailed off, staring at the board. The left corner of his mouth twitched. "Well, I'll be damned."

Harry furrowed his brow, glancing down. Then he saw it. Malfoy's king was surrounded on all sides by pieces that included his own knight and rook. Unable to move, it was checkmated by Harry's rook. "I didn't notice," he said.

"Obviously," Malfoy climbed to his feet. "Your head's fine. You can go."

Harry just sat for a moment, thrown by the sudden dismissal. Then he stood, too, his eyes following Malfoy as he moved toward the bathroom. He opened his mouth, but his mind drew a blank. The bathroom door swung shut on silence. Harry sighed and forced himself to turn away, leaving the room.

-

Harry spoke to no one for the rest of the day, and, surprisingly, no one tried to speak to him. Not wanting to take any chances, he kept his head down during lunch and dinner and spent the time in between sitting under a tree by the lake. As time passed, he found that he could prolong his moments of peace between potion doses by sitting perfectly still, leaning back against the tree trunk with his eyes closed. Still, he was forced to reach for the vial every two to three hours, a fact that he met with disdain.

He ate his dinner quickly that evening and left the Great Hall, eager to avoid any conversation, particularly with Hermione. On his way upstairs, he had to pause midway between the third and fourth floors when he started to feel warm again. He stopped on the stairs, leaning back against the wall. At first, he wanted to wait for the pain to start, both to be sure the pain was coming and to assure himself that he could still feel it. As the heat began to intensify though, he changed his mind, drawing the potion out and taking a quick sip. He waited a few moments to make sure it had taken effect before continuing up the stairs.

When Harry reached the Room of Requirement, the bedroom was empty, and the bathroom door was closed. He closed the door and made a beeline for the bed, lying down and closing his eyes. He did not feel tired, but he knew he should be. He had not had much sleep the previous night, if what he had could even be called sleep. In fact, it seemed that since he had returned to Hogwarts, he had almost spent more time passed out than actually sleeping.

He heard a door swing open and soft footfalls but did not open his eyes until he felt the bed move beside him. His hand shot up just in time to catch Malfoy's wrist as he reached toward Harry's head. "What're you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Malfoy pulled out of the loose grip and pressed the back of his hand to Harry's forehead. It rested there for a moment before Malfoy seemed satisfied and withdrew it.

Harry's hand caught him again, but this time he said nothing because he had no idea why he did it. In fact, very little made sense to him, even the reason why he had returned to this room in the first place. All he knew was that when Malfoy's hand started to move away, he did not want it to. His thoughts were getting in his way, so he suppressed them, focusing instead on actions. Keeping a hold on Malfoy's arm, he sat up, closing the space between them.

Malfoy's lips were unresponsive for so long it seemed that he might pull away. Sharply pushing aside the apprehensions that threatened to take over his mind again, Harry took initiative, plunging a hand down the loose waistband of Malfoy's trousers. The contact of skin on skin finally drew a reaction as Malfoy broke apart to take a sharp breath and then kissed back with a fervor, his free hand settling on Harry's shoulder briefly before snaking its way down to his trousers.

By the time Malfoy had his trousers undone, however, Harry was already drawing back. Malfoy seemed to misinterpret the action at first and moved in closer, but Harry pushed him away, standing and moving away from the bed. The thoughts he had pushed away now had come back in a wave, accompanied by new, more disturbing ones.

Always before, the thing that bothered him was the feelings. His own body's physical response. That Malfoy could do something to him so akin to what he felt around Ginny, yet somehow different. Something that drew him in so sharply he could not always escape in time.

But now things were different. When Malfoy responded to him, even when his hands touched Harry, he felt nothing. It should have been a relief, but all Harry was left with was a hollow spot in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he was disappointed. He had wanted to feel something. He wanted to prove that he _could_ feel something.

As though intent to make matters worse, Malfoy scoffed. "And they say Slytherins are selfish."

The words set Harry moving again, walking out the door without a glance back.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: a confrontation, hallucinations, and a revelation. As Harry fights to sort out what's real and what isn't, he finds that even when things seem cut and dry, choices are never as simple as they should be. Since I want to avoid spoiling the next chapter while still giving something to look forward to, I will just say this: I think readers will enjoy it.


	35. Chapter 35: The Simplest Choice

Author's Note: Thanks to all who reviewed! My only note on this chapter is that there is one tiny section that seemed in retrospect to resemble a scene from Deathly Hallows. I don't think I was influenced by the book, but I thought I'd mention it just in case there was subconscious influence. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 35: The Simplest Choice

The moment Harry saw Hermione pacing in front of the common room fireplace, he knew he should have stayed away. When he stepped in, however, she froze in her tracks, and he knew there was no escape.

"Sit down," she said in a low voice. "We need to talk."

Harry stayed where he was.

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the ground. "Please, don't make this harder than it already is."

He still did not move. He wanted the exit within reach, even if he could not use it.

She sighed. "I didn't want it to come to this. After the way you reacted, I thought maybe I should just leave you to it, but...well, that was before I knew everything, and—"

"Get to the point," Harry snapped.

Hermione seemed to consciously stop herself from flinching. She stepped forward, lightly touching his arm. "Harry, I know what Malfoy did."

He jerked away from her, putting a few feet between them. He could not trust himself to react properly, if there even was a proper way to react, so he faced the other direction.

"I should've figured it out sooner," she continued. "I don't know why. I guess I just assumed it had to have happened a long time ago. I'm so sorry."

Harry ground his teeth together but still said nothing.

"I knew I had to do something after Dobby came to me." Her voice was starting to sound strained as she moved back in front of him. "He didn't say much at first. I guess you told him not to say anything, but he was worried about you." She reached into her pocket and drew out a folded piece of old parchment: the Marauders' Map. "So I started keeping an eye on you. I saw you going to his room. It didn't make any sense at first, but after I talked to Dobby some more..." She trailed off.

"I'm still not seeing your point," Harry said, surprised that he was able to speak at all.

"I know why you didn't tell us. You were embarrassed. You didn't want everyone finding out, so you just went on like nothing happened."

"Stop." Harry leveled his gaze on her. He was starting to think his lack of feeling and emotion might be a blessing. "Stop acting like you understand."

She wavered. "You're right. I mean, what it must've been like having to go back there every day and what it did to your mind. But what he did to you—Harry, you have to turn him in."

Harry's shoulders stiffened. Finally, she had gotten to her point. "No."

She touched his arm again. "I know you—"

"No, you don't." He sighed. "You're worried. I get it. But I keep telling you I'm fine."

"Then why do you keep going back?" Her face changed to apprehensive curiosity. "Do you—"

"No," Harry cut her off before she could finish the question. Even in his current state, he could not stand to hear her say those words, to know that she even considered the possibility that he could have any feelings for Malfoy.

Hermione looked briefly relieved, but her expression soon returned to worry. "Anyone who looks at you can tell you're barely sleeping. You've been ill. You're taking _Desdolor_ to mask your pain and God only knows what else. You're not fine."

"Even if I'm not, it's my business."

She sighed and glanced away. "Maybe." She looked back, shaking her head. "But I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore. Which is why I talked to Aberforth before you got here and asked if I can stay with them."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"I've done all the research I can here, and you're obviously not going to help. Ron tries, but I know he doesn't want to. It'll be better for everyone." She took a deep breath. "As soon as Aberforth gets everything set up, I'm leaving. He'll still pop in every other night or so in case you need anything. So if you feel like talking, I'll be there. But I can't do this anymore." This time she turned away, walking off toward the girls' dormitory.

Harry stared after her. He knew he should have stopped her. Even more so, he should have wanted to stop her. He should have been able to feel something, anything besides the gaping emptiness inside expanding, threatening to envelope him.

His hand moved unconsciously to his pocket and withdrew the vial, still just over half full of potion. His fingers tightened around it.

Then, with one swift movement, he threw it into the fireplace. As he stared at the shattered glass, he felt no thrill of triumph nor even a twinge of regret. He turned away and left the common room in a fog, feeling nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

-

"I didn't think you'd be back tonight."

Harry ignored Malfoy. He moved to the bed and lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He still felt nothing when he thought about Hermione leaving, but now that he had come here, a twinge of fear settled in the pit of his stomach. The echo of the shattering glass lingered in his ears. It was too late to go back now. All he could do was wait.

Malfoy moved into his field of vision, looking down at him with a slight apprehension. "What crawled up your arse, Potter?"

Harry blinked but said nothing. Warmth started to radiate through his body and he took a deep, shuddering breath to prepare himself. In spite of this, the first wave caught him off guard. He groaned, his torso lifting up off the bed briefly before falling back down.

"Shit!" Malfoy swore, reaching over Harry to search his pockets. "Where's the potion?"

"I..." Harry anticipated the next hit and gritted his teeth, waiting for it to pass. "I threw it away."

"You—what? Why?"

Harry tuned Malfoy out as the waves crashed over his head again and again with increasing frequency and intensity. He rolled onto his side and, though he bit his tongue to avoid it, cried out as the pain overtook him.

Harry could not quite say for sure when he started to see things. Time had become meaningless to him. He saw Malfoy moving around him at first, though he could not even be sure that was real. He felt himself roll onto his back at one point. Something touched his forehead. Fingers pried his mouth open to pour tepid water in. He choked, jerking to the side again, and drew his knees up to his chest.

It was then that he saw Hermione standing by the door with her back to him. She glanced over her shoulder with a look of pity before fading into the wall.

Ron was next. He walked past the bed with his arms folded, fixing Harry with a dead gaze, slowly shaking his head back and forth.

"I'm sorry." Harry heard his own voice from far away.

"Potter?" Malfoy appeared in front of Ron, seeming to take no notice of him, and waved a hand in front of Harry's face.

Harry kept his focus on Ron, who had continued his trek and come out from behind Malfoy, his eyes still fixed on Harry as though Malfoy was not there. Harry felt a squeezing pressure in his head and flipped onto his back again.

"I suppose I should've known," a female voice whispered so close his ear itched from the rush of air. He scratched clumsily at the ear, but it did not help. "Nobody's that jumpy for no good reason." Invisible hands gripped his arms, pulling them up over his head and something pressed on his chest. Ginny materialized straddling him, leaning forward to hold his hands over his head.

"It's not your fault." Ron circled to his other side, still looking at him with critical eyes. "Fooled us all, didn't he?"

The weight on Harry's chest increased. The pressure escalated until he felt as though his head would explode. As he stared at Ginny through watery eyes, she opened her mouth, emitting an unintelligible hiss before fading back into nothingness. After a few moments, his arms fell to his sides.

He saw no one else for a while. The room was silent but for the steady drumbeat in his head.

"It doesn't hurt," a new, hollow voice said. Harry turned and had to squint to see the figures of Parvati and Padma Patil. Parvati stood crying, her face buried in her hands, while her sister circled her, speaking. "Just a quick flash. Like taking a picture."

"There are worse things," a male voice said.

Harry turned his head so sharply his neck spasmed. Sirius stood on his other side, white as a sheet, his eyes open wide and staring at the ceiling. Harry's lips parted. "Sirius?"

"You're hallucinating." This voice seemed familiar, but it was too far away to tell.

A hand covered in dirt and grime reached up over the side of the bed, grabbing a fistful of sheets. Another hand appeared beside it. The thin arms strained to propel their owner upward until his face was inches from Harry's. "It's all over," Nott said. He glanced up, smirking. "Our little secret, eh?" He released his grip, slithering back out of sight.

Something draped over Harry's forehead. He blinked up at the blurry figure watching over him.

That's when the bugs came, thousands upon thousands crawling up his legs, his arms, his spine. He twisted and writhed, scratching every inch of skin he could reach, but it was no use; they just kept crawling.

"Potter, stop!" Fingers grasped his arms tightly, wrenching his nails away from his skin.

Harry yelled in protest and kicked out blindly. He could not take it. The itching was driving him mad.

Suddenly, his limbs snapped back down onto the bed. He could not move. He tried to scream again, but his jaw clamped shut and all he could manage was a strangled moan as he squeezed his watering eyes shut.

"Sorry," the voice said. He felt something brush his arm, further irritating his skin.

"'Sorry', 'sorry.'" Unable to turn his head, Harry had to look out the corner of his eye to see Ron standing by him again. "Funny how often that word gets thrown around."

Harry looked away, closing his eyes again. The bugs were creeping up his neck. He imagined ants marching in straight lines, up the left side of his face, over his forehead, back down the right side. He breathed in and the pain in his head sharpened, like a monster stirring after a thousand year sleep.

"Not quite the beast slouching toward Bethlehem," Ron said in his ear, "but close enough."

Harry managed to think long enough to wonder why Ron would even say something like that, but the next wave of pain drove it from his mind. _Make it stop_, he pleaded silently. He did not care how. If he could move, he would have ended it himself.

"_Trapped._"An unfamiliar voice seemed to hiss from everywhere at once, sending an icy wave through his veins. "_Trapped,_" it repeated, "_trapped, trappedtrappedtrapped..._"

Harry screamed silently as his mind ripped into a thousand pieces and a rush of white light filled his vision.

Then, slowly, the light began to dull. The hold on Harry's limbs released and he sat slumped in a chair, exhausted. He blinked and a bed came into focus, occupied by a dark mass still too blurry to make out. He blinked again and the picture sharpened. Lupin lay before him, blood pouring from gaping wounds on his neck and abdomen, staining white sheets red.

A hand settled on Harry's shoulder and he looked up to see a wizened face, clear blue eyes staring out from behind half-moon spectacles, seeming to focus on something beyond the wall. "You can't save everyone," Dumbledore said.

Harry turned back to Lupin. "What do you want me to do?"

Dumbledore did not answer. As the light dimmed further, his hand lifted away, leaving Harry to shiver alone in the dark.

When the world finally came back, Harry still could not move, though his limbs were not held rigidly in place anymore. His muscles felt like they were made of lead and he ached everywhere it seemed possible to ache. His entire head felt as though someone had tried to rip the hair out by the roots, though the brain itself was oddly numb. If it was possible, even his fingernails seemed to hurt. He tried bending a finger and winced as pain shot through his whole arm.

"Harry Potter, sir?"

Harry let his head fall to the side and saw Dobby's huge eyes staring at him. "You're not real," he slurred. Moving his jaw sent pain radiating through his throat as far down as his collarbone.

"Take it easy, Potter." Malfoy moved into his vision, pushing the house-elf out of his way. He gripped Harry's shoulders and hauled him up into a sitting position. Nausea swept through Harry, but his stomach only rolled and nothing came up.

"Is Harry Potter all right?" Dobby asked, bouncing up and down on his heels at the foot of the bed. "Dobby waited all day for him to wake up."

_All day_? "What time is it?" Harry asked, the muscles of his neck straining.

"Later than noon," Malfoy said. "Earlier than sunset. Does your head hurt?"

Harry shook his head once, stopping when the nauseous feeling returned.

"Can you stand?"

Harry did not think he could, but he moved anyway, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His muscles strained painfully as he pushed himself to his feet, but he managed to stand upright, wobbling only slightly.

Malfoy turned to Dobby. "Make sure he gets back to Gryffindor Tower."

"I don't need help." Harry took a few careful steps toward the door to make sure he could.

"Dobby wants to help," the elf said.

Harry reached the door on his own, but sighed. "Fine." As Dobby stepped out ahead of him, Harry glanced back just in time to see the bathroom door close. Reluctantly, he left.

They walked in silence for a while before Dobby spoke. "Did Hermione Granger talk to Harry Potter?"

"Yeah," Harry said, keeping his eyes cast away.

"Dobby's sorry. He was worried."

"I know. You just did what—Ron?"

Ron had just walked around the corner, looking troubled. "I've been looking for you," he said.

"Sorry, I've just been—What's wrong?"

Ron, who seemed to have spaced out, blinked and shook his head lightly. "It's Hagrid."

-

Harry stood by the oversized bed that had been set up in the hospital wing, staring over Hagrid's still form. He barely looked like himself. An infected gouge in his jaw that could not be healed with magic had forced Madam Pomfrey to shear away his beard in order to dress it properly. Long bandages wound around his exposed arms and legs, a large mass of gauze covering the spot on his right hand where his ring finger and pinky had been.

"Davidson found him on the edge of the Forbidden Forest this morning," Madam Pomfrey said as she redressed Hagrid's bloodied left leg with the help of Neville and Ron to hold it up off the bed. Hermione stood several feet from Harry and focused intently on Madam Pomfrey, as though determined not to look in his direction.

"What happened to him?" Harry asked.

"Giant attack, by the looks of it." Madam Pomfrey brushed the hair from her sweat-soaked forehead and straightening up to examine her handiwork.

"Giants?" Hermione gaped. "He went back? Why?"

"I'm afraid that's between Hagrid and Professor McGonagall," Madam Pomfrey said. "There doesn't seem to be any internal bleeding. Now, I imagine he'll be waking up soon, and I don't want to overwhelm him. He's only to have two guests at a time."

"I'll go," Hermione said at once, turning to leave.

Ron looked like he wanted to follow, but Neville spoke first. "I'll go, too."

After they had gone, Madam Pomfrey nodded. "I have to speak with Professor McGonagall," she said. "If he wakes up, come find me."

"We will," Ron said. When she had left, he spoke to Harry at once. "Hermione's leaving tomorrow night. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?"

"Why would I?" Harry asked.

"That's not an answer."

"You're only asking me because she wouldn't tell you. Or because she did and you think she's lying."

Ron stared at him for a moment. Then he sat down, staring at his hands clasped in front of him. "She said she found everything she could in the library."

"Then that's what she wanted you to know."

He glanced up. "But why is she leaving?"

Entranced by the look of pure desperation for an answer on Ron's face, Harry sat in a chair on the other side of the bed. "What did she tell Professor McGonagall?"

"That her parents wanted her home."

"Oh." Harry was not sure what else to say, so he went silent, focusing on the ground. There was something wrong with him. He was thinking about Hermione leaving again, focusing all of his attention on it, but he still felt nothing. No sadness, no regret. He thought for a moment that he might feel sorry that she was leaving. Then he realized that he only felt as though he _should_ be sorry.

He heard a low groan and looked up. Hagrid stirred but did not wake up.

The interruption brought Harry sharply back to the present and he stood.

Ron watched him. "So, you're just running away, then?"

Harry turned and walked away without glancing back.

-

Malfoy was sitting in his chair by the window again, eating a sandwich. When Harry entered the room, he stood. "Does your head hurt again?"

Harry did not speak. He could not. Speaking would require thinking, and thinking would make him reconsider what he was about to do. Rather, he strode over to Malfoy, seized him by the shoulders, and kissed him.

The numbness lifted. Warmth spread through Harry's body, all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. At the same time, he felt a rush of euphoria and his muscles weakened.

He did not realize that he had slumped forward until the kiss broke and hands gripped his shoulders. "Have you eaten anything?" Malfoy asked.

Harry blinked, not comprehending at first. Then, as Malfoy started to lead him away, he slowly regained coherence. Still, when Malfoy put a sandwich in his hand, he only stared at it.

"Eat," Malfoy advised. He picked up another for himself and sat on the edge of the bed.

Harry hesitated for another moment before lifting the sandwich to his mouth, taking a small bite. He barely tasted the ham as he chewed, forcing his dry throat to swallow. He finished half of the sandwich before stopping and lowering it back onto the plate.

Malfoy sighed and stood again, shaking his head. "Useless," he muttered, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and pushing down until he sat on the bed. "You have to give me something here. Is it your head or something else?"

Harry did not answer for a long time. "Hermione knows," he said finally.

Malfoy's face turned ashen. "How much?"

"Everything. Or enough of it anyway."

"Fuck," Malfoy swore, running a hand through his hair and glancing away briefly. "How long do I have?"

"She's not turning you in."

"The hell she isn't!"

"She's leaving," Harry said to the floor, "tomorrow night."

Malfoy stared at him for a moment, as though he did not believe him. Then he sat down next to Harry, sighing. "This is more trouble than its worth."

"I wonder whose fault that is," Harry muttered.

"If I remember correctly," Malfoy said, "you made the first move. And you could've walked away at any time. The way I see it, you were asking for it."

Harry glanced at him. "Were you asking for it?"

Malfoy seemed to waver only slightly. "I knew what I was getting into."

"That doesn't make it right."

He stood again, taking a few steps forward. "I told you, I don't want your pity."

"This isn't pity."

He rounded on Harry, his eyes blazing. "Then what is it?"

They watched each other for a long time, locked in a bitter staring contest. Harry was the first to turn away. He could not answer. If he allowed himself to think about it, he would first have to ask himself why he was there, to which there was no answer. So, instead, he voiced another question that was bothering him. "Since when do you not want pity?"

Malfoy continued to glare. Then he strode forward, bending over until his face was inches from Harry's. "You have no right," he hissed.

Harry shoved his shoulders. "Get out of my face."

Malfoy pushed him back, and the next thing Harry knew, they were trading blows on the floor. Harry managed to knee Malfoy in the ribs and stand up, but Malfoy recovered quickly, scrambling to his feet and diving at Harry. They landed on the bed with a force that knocked the wind out of Harry and made red spots break out under his eyelids. When he regained control of himself, he kicked his legs out, rolling over to pin Malfoy on his back.

Malfoy winced, breathing harshly. He glanced downward and, without warning, his hand snaked its way down the front of Harry's trousers. He smirked when this drew a sharp breath from Harry. "Yeah," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you're not asking for it."

"Shut up," Harry growled through his teeth.

"Right," Malfoy said. "No more talking." He released Harry and reached for his own belt.

Harry took the opportunity to untangle himself from Malfoy. He stumbled backwards, readjusting his trousers.

"Oh, not this again," Malfoy muttered, climbing to his feet. "I'm not playing this game, Potter." He closed the distance between them and shoved Harry's shoulders again, pushing him up against the wall. "If you want out, say you want out." He started to undo Harry's trousers.

Harry should have spoken. He should have pushed Malfoy away. He should have fought tooth and nail to get away. There were a million things he should have done. He should have done them two months earlier.

But he did not, and he could not explain it anymore now than he could then.

His trousers slipped from his waist, falling down to his ankles. Malfoy gripped his shirt and pulled it over his head. Harry shuddered.

Malfoy stopped, glancing up at him. Then, after a few moments, he took a step backwards and pulled his own shirt off. As his hands went to his trousers again, Harry looked away. Then he felt a tug and glanced down in spite of himself. When he saw Malfoy's fingers clenching the waistband of his pants, pulling them down, he turned again.

"You look like I just killed your owl," Malfoy said. He lightly gripped Harry's chin between two fingers, forcing him to look up.

"Stop," Harry said, hating how weak his voice sounded.

"Stop what? Acting like I care?" Malfoy leaned closer until his mouth was inches from Harry's. "Not so great on the other side, is it?"

Harry felt a swell of anger and pushed at Malfoy's shoulders. Malfoy saw this coming, however, and seized his forearms in a vice-grip. The momentum threw them both off balance and they crashed to the floor. Pain shot through Harry's left arm.

Malfoy groaned, rolling onto his back. "That's all right," he muttered. "I was just thinking earlier, it's been way too long since I last broke a rib."

Harry rolled his eyes, struggling to sit up. "You cried when Buckbeak scratched you. You'd faint if you broke a rib."

Malfoy sat up at once, brandishing his bandaged left arm. "You think I can't deal with pain?"

"You don't know pain."

A split second later, Harry was on his back again with Malfoy straddling him. "Have you ever had your chest ripped open?"

"Have you ever had your brain ripped apart?"

"Well, let's get a point for comparison." Malfoy leaned toward his clothes, retrieving his wand. He drew it lightly over Harry's chest. "Where should I start?"

Harry writhed against the legs on either side of his body until he broke through. He seized the opportunity to grab Malfoy's leg and flip him over until he was the one on top, his hands planted on either side of Malfoy's chest. As he did so, his groin brushed against Malfoy's and his arms nearly gave out.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was kicking at him. His legs swung up, heels digging into Harry's back with bruising force.

The friction from the movement sent shivers down Harry's spine. Distantly, he saw Malfoy's arms moving again and felt something warm and wet on his skin, but the moment he entered Malfoy, that all slipped from his mind. All that mattered was here and now and the hot blood pounding through his veins.

Malfoy winced and groaned, arching his back. His hands slithered up to Harry's shoulders, pulling him forward with more force.

The pleasure crashed over Harry all at once, like a river breaking free of a dam. He thrust forward one last time and squeezed his eyes shut, ducking his head down and swearing under his breath.

Harry realized he had stopped breathing. As he drew a fresh, wavering breath and pulled away from Malfoy. His mind switched back on in an instant and ice flooded his veins. He tried to stand but his legs shook so badly he only fell backwards, sitting down hard.

His hands were shaking. He clenched his fists to stop it. He saw Malfoy struggling to sit up and looked away, his throat clenching. He could not believe what he had just done. Even knowing what Malfoy did to him, the guilt was overwhelming. Even more so, because he could not stop thinking about Flint flinging Malfoy across the room and then reaching down to undo his robes. He knew what it could do to a person's mind. And he did it anyway.

Then, for the first time, he glanced down at himself. He saw sweat glistening on his skin, bruises appearing on his left arm and on his chest and legs where Malfoy had hit or kicked him. What drew his attention though was the slick, clear liquid coating him, dripping down his thighs. He looked up and saw Malfoy watching him, a faint smirk on his face.

"You..." Harry breathed in sharply, scrambling to his feet. "This is...this is what you wanted. All along..._this_..."

"Does it really surprise you that much?" Malfoy stood and stretched, wincing.

"So all this time," Harry said, still trying to make sense of it. "Everything you've said and done...it was all an act?"

"A lot of it." Malfoy moved to the bed and lay down, his smirk broadening. "Good luck sorting that out."

"You're disgusting." Harry stooped to pick up his trousers.

Malfoy propped himself up on his forearms. "Am I? You could have left at any time."

Harry felt himself flush and turned away, fuming as he pulled up his trousers. He could not believe Malfoy had tricked him. Even knowing this, he still had a million unanswered questions. How much of his perceived weakness had been an act? When he helped Harry with his mind problems, was he just thinking about how he could use him in the future? Just how long had he been planning this? Days? Weeks? Since that first moment when Harry kissed him and he seized on the opportunity? Or even earlier?

Malfoy sat up. "You're leaving, then?" he said, his face blank as though he did not care one way or the other.

"What do you think?" Harry said, moving to pick up his shirt. Then he froze.

Malfoy had stood up and moved to his corner. He sat down, his face contorting slightly with pain when he did so.

Harry stared at him for several moments. The fog had reappeared in his mind. It should have been easier than ever for him to leave. Malfoy had been manipulating him. His decision should have been simple.

But even after admitting everything, Malfoy was still back in his corner. Either he was still putting on a show or, as Harry strongly suspected, this particular weakness was not fake.

The shirt slipped out of Harry's hand. He walked over to the bed and sat, keeping a close eye on Malfoy the whole time. Then he lay down, folding his hands over his bare stomach and staring at the ceiling. After several minutes, he closed his eyes.

At some point—Harry could not say exactly when—he felt the bed shift beside him. When the movement stopped, he opened his eyes in slits, glancing over. Malfoy lay with his back turned to Harry, still completely naked. Silently cursing himself, Harry closed his eyes again.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. After writing this chapter, I have a new respect for the fine line between the M and MA ratings. Hopefully I can manage to toe the line, since both the sites I'm posting on don't allow MA. Next chapter: Hagrid's awake, Hermione's leaving, and Malfoy's still manipulating. As hard as he fights, can Harry win a game he's already losing?


	36. Chapter 36: Losing

Author's Note: A thousand thanks to all reviewers. All I'll say for this one is I apologize in advance for my horrendous attempt at Hagrid's accent. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 36: Losing

Harry had a headache. Rather than be annoyed by it, he welcomed it. It was nice to feel pain that he did not have to worry about or bring attention to. He could just lie staring at the ceiling, not caring what he had done or who he was waking up next to.

A sudden grunting snore brought him crashing back to reality. Malfoy shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his back. Harry initially turned away, but he mentally chastised himself and forced himself to look back. Malfoy was stark naked and lying on top of the blankets, but he still had a light sheen of sweat over his skin from the heat of the room.

Harry wanted to touch him. Nausea swept through him as he realized this. He wanted to brush the hair off Malfoy's forehead. He wanted to run his fingers down Malfoy's chest, to feel the slick, shimmering skin.

But no matter what happened, he could not go down that road. He could not allow himself to. Malfoy was a manipulative liar. What had happened the previous night proved it. Harry could not delude himself into thinking anything different.

Harry stood up, careful not to disturb Malfoy. He moved to the wardrobe and selected a clean pair of clothes. He glanced back at the bed once, reminded himself that it did not matter if Malfoy was awake or not, and started to dress.

"Looks like you could go another round."

Harry jumped. He pulled his trousers up quickly, looking around.

Malfoy was propped up on his elbows, staring at Harry with a smirk. "The elf won't be here for another hour."

Harry just narrowed his eyes and started for the door.

"Oh, right, I forgot," Malfoy said. "You have to take a week to wallow in self-pity first."

Harry froze briefly, his hand lighting on the doorknob. He would not rise to the bait. He pushed the door open and walked out without a word.

Harry was the first one to arrive in the hospital wing. Hagrid still lay motionless in his massive bed, a sheet draped over him. Harry stepped toward the chair beside him.

As he approached, Hagrid stirred suddenly, opening his eyes. "Harry," he said in a gruff voice.

"Sorry I woke you," Harry said.

Hagrid shifted slightly, his face contorted in pain. "Nah, yeh didn't. Pomfrey's been in every couple hours since las' night, stompin' around and changin' bandages."

"Oh." Harry sat down, staring at his hands.

"Are yeh all right?"

"I'm fine. Tired," he added when Hagrid looked suspicious.

"I think tha's sumthin' everyone's feelin'. Things're gettin' a mite hairy out there."

"Yeah."

"But tha's nothin' for yeh to worry over. Jus' you keep focusin' on yer studies." Hagrid's voice faded out toward the end of his speech, his eyes fluttering shut.

Harry leaned forward, slightly alarmed, but Hagrid had just fallen asleep, his chest still rising and falling with a regular rhythm. After a few minutes watching him, Harry stood and left the room.

Harry did not feel up to going to the Great Hall for breakfast, so he went to the kitchens instead. To his relief, Dobby was already gone, so he was able to grab a drink of pumpkin juice and a stack of toast with just a few quick words to a house-elf. He finished his meager breakfast and went back to the common room, which was empty.

He was about to sit in an armchair when something caught his eye. The table across the room, normally piled high with books that Hermione needed to check over, had been cleaned off save for a single book. Curious, he moved closer, glancing over the cover, but all that met his eyes were a collection of runes. He flicked the book open and found more of the same, along with a bit of parchment tucked about halfway through. He pulled it out and unfolded it, squinting down at Hermione's once neat handwriting, which was now so untidy he could barely read it.

A large portion of the parchment was taken up by a sketch of a snake with a sharp line drawn down the very center of it. Much of the rest was taken up by drawings of varying shapes with lines sliced through them as well. The space around them was filled with non-sensical words and phrases, so unlike Hermione's usual, methodical note-taking: seemingly random words such as "bond," "dissolve," and "parasite." The phrases made less sense and were written over so many times Harry could only pick out a few: "break apart," "slice off," "extract first?"

He focused on the snake. Was she trying to figure out how to get to the Horcrux stored inside Nagini? It made sense. She had expressed how difficult it was to track down the last two Horcruxes. Maybe she had decided to focus on the one they had identified.

When Harry heard the portrait open, he tucked the parchment into his pocket, intent to look at it more closely later.

"My gran says fifty will come back at most," Neville said as he stepped into the common room. "Everyone else is too scared."

"I'd put it at thirty." Ron appeared next. He was the one who noticed Harry first, stopping in his tracks.

Neville turned as well. "There you are," he said. "Where have you been?"

Harry just shrugged.

"Hagrid woke up last night after you left," Ron said in a monotone. "He wanted to see you."

"I was already there," Harry said. Without giving an explanation, he turned away and started for the dormitory stairs.

Neither said anything or tried to stop him.

-

Harry slept through lunch. He had only meant to lie down and rest his eyes for a moment, but his exhaustion overtook him. His dreams were a fog of strange images and sensations. It started with a snake slithering around his bare feet. He could feel something crawling up his spine, fanning out over his skull, but when he grabbed at his head, there was nothing there. When he turned his eyes back downward, the snake was gone, replaced by Theodore Nott, coiled around his legs as though he had no bones. He felt a tug on his feet and he collapsed, sitting down hard. The last image he was left with was Malfoy lying next to him, staring listlessly at the ceiling.

It was late afternoon when he woke up, and the dormitory was empty. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. The dream meant nothing. His mind was just melding everything that had happened in the past few days. Still, it unnerved him, even as the details began to fade.

Harry was the last one to arrive in the Great Hall for dinner. No one spoke to him, though Hermione did seem to be trying to catch his eye. He pretended not to notice, keeping his eyes focused on his plate. When he had finished eating, he stood at once to leave, ignoring the footsteps he heard following him.

"Harry!" When they reached the corridor, Hermione hurried to catch up with him.

Harry stopped, turning to face her. "What?"

"Please, just come back to the common room."

"Why?"

"Because I want to say goodbye."

"Then say it."

She grabbed his arm as though afraid he would try to run. "I need to know you're going to be all right."

"I will."

"That's not good enough."

"What more do you want from me?"

"I want a proper goodbye." She took his other hand. When he tried to pull away, she tightened her grip, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "Please. Ron still thinks I might change my mind. I need someone there who knows that this might be it."

"I don't—"

"Harry, I'm serious. I'm saying this to you because I don't think I can say it to Ron. We're in a war. You know that better than anyone. There's a real possibility that we won't see each other again."

Harry stared back at her for several moments. What she said should have affected him. He should have asked her to stay. At the very least, he should have felt sad.

He did not. But he could fake it. "Okay," he said.

Hermione smiled gratefully. She released his hand and wrapped her arm around his, leading him upstairs.

Ron and Neville were already in the common room by the time they arrived. Neville was sitting in an armchair by the fireplace while Ron paced in front of it. The latter stopped when they entered.

"I'll be right back," Hermione said, releasing Harry's arm and starting for the dormitory stairs. By the time she returned with her trunk, no one had spoken.

To everyone's surprise, she went to Neville first, stooping down to hug him. "Goodbye, Neville," she said. "Don't send any owls, okay? If you want to talk, tell Ron. He'll help you get to me."

"Yeah," he said. "Bye."

Hermione straightened up, turning to Harry next. She reached into her pocket, drawing out the Marauders' Map, and pressed it into his hand. "So you'll know I'm not watching." She wrapped him in a one handed hug and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Think about what I said." She kissed his cheek and released him.

She went to Ron last, whispering something unintelligible to him. When he nodded, she touched a hand to his cheek and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

Harry glanced away as the color rose in Ron's cheeks, but he still heard Ron's next words. "Do you have to go?"

"Yeah," Hermione said, "I do." When Harry looked back, she was on her tiptoes, kissing Ron's forehead. "You know how to find me." She turned away from him and moved to the fireplace, throwing in a handful of Floo Powder. She grabbed one end of her trunk and exchanged one last look with Harry before stepping into the green flames.

The three stared after her for a long time. Neville was the first to move, heading up the dormitory stairs. Harry turned away soon after and crawled through the portrait hole, leaving Ron to stare at the dying embers.

-

Harry stepped into the Owlery, staring up through the rafters of owls. "Hedwig?" he called.

He heard a flap of wings behind him and sharp claws closed over his shoulder. Hedwig nipped his ear roughly.

"Sorry I didn't come sooner," Harry said as he moved up the stairs and stepped outside.

Hedwig ruffled her feathers and hooted, hopping onto the ledge.

Harry stared out at the sunset wordlessly for a long time. In spite of Hedwig's continued contempt for him, he welcomed the silence of the Owlery, even knowing that it would not last for long.

-

"You're getting better," Malfoy said, moving his rook to take Harry's.

Harry moved his knight. "Check."

"But you can't win." Malfoy moved his king out of danger. "You're still too cautious."

"I'm not stupid." Harry moved a pawn to clear a path for his bishop. "I know what you're trying to do. Check." 

Malfoy's queen moved quickly to take the bishop. "I'm just making conversation. This game isn't the most riveting."

Harry moved his other bishop to head off an attack on his queen. "I thought you said I was getting better."

"You are," Malfoy said, moving his queen again. "Checkmate."

Harry barely glanced over the pieces before instructing them to move back to their starting places. As he did so, he felt fingers brush through his hair and jerked violently, looking up.

"Have you heard of a comb?" Malfoy asked.

"Have you heard of minding your own business?" Harry shot back, moving a pawn.

Malfoy stood. "I don't have any business. I need something to think about."

"Make your move."

"Give it up, Potter. You've lost."

"Make...your...move," Harry said, putting emphasis on every word.

Malfoy stared down at him. Then he sat and moved a pawn to meet his. "Granger left, didn't she?"

Harry did not reply, focusing all of his attention on the board. After several moves, he thought he was making headway. Until...

"Checkmate." Malfoy glanced up. "Now you're just being reckless."

"Again," Harry said.

Malfoy stood again. "No."

"Again," he repeated.

"You're frustrated. I understand. Do something useful with it."

"I know what your definition of 'useful' is."

Malfoy backed up until he stood beside the bed. "Mutual benefit. More so for you, because it'll shut me up."

"Nothing shuts you up."

"It does if you do it right."

Harry glared for several moments. Then he stood and walked up to Malfoy, moving his head until his mouth was inches from Malfoy's ear. "I wouldn't touch you if my life depended on it."

Harry could not see Malfoy's face, but he could almost feel his smirk. "That would have a lot more impact if I couldn't feel it on my thigh."

Harry felt fingers slip down his trousers and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth.

The reaction seemed to satisfy Malfoy. He lifted his hand away and lightly pulled Harry's trousers down, sitting on the edge of the bed. "How's this?" He leaned forward.

Harry reached down, intent on pushing Malfoy away, but the moment Malfoy's tongue flicked over his skin, he could not hold back anymore. He groaned. His hand lighted on Malfoy's head.

Malfoy reached to untangle Harry's fingers from his hair and looked up. "You're not getting it that easily."

Harry took a deep breath and shoved Malfoy's shoulders. "And you're not getting anything," he said in a wavering voice, pulling his trousers back up.

Malfoy fell back on the bed and propped himself up on his elbows. "We both know how this is going to end. Personally, I'd rather not end up on the floor again."

Harry narrowed his eyes and turned away.

He heard the mattress move and just as he reached the door, a hand closed over his arm. "I said I'd rather not," Malfoy said. "I never said I wouldn't."

"Let go of me," Harry growled.

Malfoy tightened his grip. "I see what this is. You like it rough."

Harry tried to pull out of the grasp, but it only locked down with painful force. Malfoy pushed him against the door. Harry winced as the doorknob dug into his back.

"That enough for you?" Malfoy asked. "I draw the line at breaking bones."

Harry pushed him again. "Get off."

"Not just yet," Malfoy said. "You have to do some work first." He backed up and unbuckled his trousers, letting them and his pants fall down to his ankles. He grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled it down to his waist.

Harry felt his fingers close over warm skin and ground his teeth together. When he felt Malfoy begin to move his hand rhythmically, he squeezed his fingers down hard.

"Ow, fuck!" Malfoy pried his hand off and stumbled backwards.

"I'm done playing games."

Malfoy's head shot up. "You'll pay for that." He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him roughly forward, pushing him toward the bed.

Harry lost his footing and sat down hard on the edge of the bed. "You deserve worse."

Malfoy strode toward him, bending until their faces were inches apart. "Don't make threats you can't deliver on." He pushed Harry onto his back and grabbed the waistband of his trousers, yanking them back down. He grabbed Harry's legs and hoisted them up in the air, lifting half of Harry's torso with the momentum.

Harry felt pressure, followed by a burning, tearing pain. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying out.

"That rough enough for you?" Malfoy asked, pulling back and thrusting his hips forward again.

Pain shot through Harry again, but it was dwarfed by a rush of pleasure so great that when Malfoy backed away, it was all he could do not to moan in protest.

"Relax," Malfoy said. "I don't get off on pain." He released Harry's legs, letting them fall back down.

"Could've fooled me," Harry managed, straining to sit up. He felt lightheaded, his skull pounding.

Malfoy crouched down and, when he straightened back up, he had Harry's wand in his hand. "Did I say you could get up?" He shoved Harry back onto the bed and pointed the wand down at himself. Clear liquid dripped out, coating his skin. Harry tried to sit up again, but Malfoy had him by the legs in an instant and thrust back inside him.

Caught off guard, Harry let out a pained gasp, trying to pull away.

"Unclench, Potter," Malfoy said. "It'll hurt less."

Harry barely heard him as his eyes fluttered shut, falling into the rhythm. Pain. Pleasure. Pain. Pleasure. He rode the edge for so long he felt he might lose his mind until the last wave of pleasure crashed over him so strongly he shuddered. He felt Malfoy back out and then heard a slick noise, followed by a groan and something wet dripping on his skin.

By the time he opened his eyes, Malfoy was already moving across the room, stooping to pick up this trousers. "Take a shower," he said without looking around, "or change your shirt at least."

Harry glanced down and saw a wet spot soaking through his shirt. He stood, wincing as his lower back ached. He focused his eyes on the bathroom and set out toward it.

He barely got the door shut before nausea hit him. He stumbled forward, retching into the toilet. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath, cursing himself. He could not believe this. After everything he found out, he had still let it happen again. He had plenty of chance to get away, and he did not take it.

When he stood up again, his vision blurred. He swayed slightly but kept his footing. He flushed the toilet and turned on the shower. He stripped his shirt off, setting his glasses on the counter, and stepped in. Cold water assaulted his skin and he grimaced, beating his hand against the wall. His head was pounding even harder now, making him heave again. He spat out the vile liquid that came up.

After several agonizing minutes, the stream finally warmed. Harry ran shaky fingers through his hair and turned around, letting the hot water hit his aching back. The temperature escalated to scalding, but he made no move to lower it. The burning was a welcome distraction.

In spite of the hot water, Harry was shivering by the time he stepped out of the shower. He dried himself off quickly and wrapped the towel around his waist. Taking a deep breath, he went back out into the bedroom.

Malfoy was lying on the bed, naked and staring at the ceiling. Harry glanced away and went to the wardrobe to retrieve a clean change of clothes.

"Who are you trying to impress, Potter?" Malfoy said. "It's burning up in here."

Harry looked at Malfoy. Then he sighed, putting back the trousers, and crossed the room. He let the towel fall to the floor, pulled the sheet back, and climbed into the bed.

Malfoy just smirked and turned onto his side, facing away from Harry.

After half an hour of tossing and turning, Harry finally kicked the sheets off and lay fully exposed. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed down on his eyelids with sweaty palms until red spots broke out under them. He did not care about the heat. He just wished his head would stop pounding.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: pain, pleasure, and trust issues. When Harry's own body rebels against him, it's only a matter of time before he has to admit that he has a problem. I had a reviewer wanting to know how many chapters there will be in this story. Normally, I would say I don't know, but I've actually worked far enough ahead now that I can answer. There will almost certainly be forty chapters plus an epilogue, for a total of forty-one. The plot's starting to wind down in my mind. Chapters 37-39 will probably be on the short side, while 40 will be a bit longer. I'm not sure how long the epilogue will be yet. The end is well in sight though.


	37. Chapter 37: A Helping Hand

Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed. Yes, I know, it hardly seems possible that the story's going to end soon. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 37: A Helping Hand

Harry did not realize he had fallen asleep until he woke to sunlight streaming through the window. His head gave a sharp throb and he snapped his eyes shut again. After a few moments, the pain dulled to a manageable level.

Malfoy had rolled onto his back in his sleep, his shoulder resting on top of Harry's. His hair was tousled slightly, his skin slick with sweat again in spite of sleeping naked. As Harry watched, his head fell to one side, lips parted as he snored softly.

Harry carefully slid away from Malfoy and stood. He retrieved a clean change of clothes and quickly pulled them on. He was able to slip out the door without waking Malfoy up.

He was on the second floor when the nausea hit him full force. He groped for the wall and sat down hard on the floor, pressing a hand to his forehead. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed to keep it down.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up. "Hi, Neville," he muttered.

"Are you okay?" Neville asked, offering him a hand.

Harry took it, struggling to stand up. His vision blurred, but he managed to not waver. "I'm fine. I think I'm just coming down with something."

"Shouldn't you go to the hospital wing?"

"No," Harry said at once. "I mean, I don't think it's anything to worry about."

Harry had to force down his breakfast that morning. His stomach continued to turn, but he could feel Neville watching him. Luckily, the professors seemed too preoccupied with their conversations to notice, and Ron's attention remained focused on his plate.

Harry went to the courtyard after breakfast. Depending on his state, he alternated between walking the perimeter of the yard and lying on a bench, trying to stop the world from spinning.

As he made a beeline for the bench a fourth time, his vision swimming, his heart leapt into his throat. It was just a coincidence. It had to be. He could not be having trouble with his mind again. Trying to calm himself down he sighed, closing his eyes.

He was falling. Everything around him was pitch black. He heard nothing but the rushing in his ears. After several moments, he slammed into cold, spongy ground. Pain jolted through his body. As he struggled to sit up, something brushed his hand. He pulled away from it, squinting. Bright white light glinted in the darkness, moving away from him. Before he could see what it was, he blacked out.

"Get his other arm."

"I've—wait, I think he's waking up."

Harry's eyelids fluttered and opened on bright sunlight. As his vision adjusted, he felt himself lifted into a sitting position. Ron and Neville stood on either side of him, gripping his shoulders. "What're you doing?" he asked.

"You passed out," Neville said.

"I was sleeping," Harry said, jerking out of their grasp.

"You wouldn't wake up," Neville said, "and your eyes were open."

Harry blinked but tried to cover his shock. "I'm fine."

Ron grabbed his arm. "We're taking you to the hospital wing."

Harry pulled away again. "No, you're not." He stood, swaying on the spot.

Neville caught him. "You really should—"

"If I go to the hospital wing again, Professor McGonagall will make me leave."

"You can't know—"

"She told me she would." It was not necessarily the truth, but it was his fear.

Neville let go of him, looking shocked.

Harry took the opportunity to walk away. He was surprised when neither tried to stop him.

-

Harry made it through the rest of the day without incident. Still, by the time he made it back to the Room of Requirement, he was glad for the reprieve. Even so, he stood outside the room for a long time, waiting for a particularly bad wave of nausea to pass. The last thing he needed was for Malfoy to start bothering him. Finally, when the feeling ebbed, he pushed the door open.

Malfoy glanced up from his plate of food. "Give me a minute, Potter."

Harry ignored him, lying on the bed.

He heard a clatter and footsteps. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry muttered.

"Is your head—?"

"My head's fine," Harry growled under his breath.

The bed moved beside him and he felt a hand light on his forehead. "You have a fever."

Harry brushed the hand away. "It's boiling in here."

Fingers touched either side of his head. "Relax, Malfoy said. "I'm not going in."

Harry, who had just moved to push Malfoy away, stopped. After a moment, he let his arms fall to his sides.

Malfoy's fingers began to move in small circles over his temples. This helped to ease the pressure in Harry's head somewhat, though it did not make much difference. "I know why you're doing this," he said.

"I'm helping," Malfoy said.

"No, you're not."

"Your headache's going away, isn't it?"

"I don't have a headache."

"Really? The throbbing vein in your forehead begs to differ. I can just go in quick and check the barriers. It won't hurt anything."

Harry opened his eyes in slits to stare up at Malfoy. "How can I make this perfectly clear? I'd rather jump off the roof."

The fingers lifted away. "'No' would've been enough," Malfoy said. He started to pull his shirt off.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows at once, regretting it when a stab of pain shot through his head. "What the hell are you doing?"

Malfoy froze. "You said it yourself. It's boiling in here."

Harry stared at him through narrow eyes for another moment before letting himself fall back onto the bed.

Malfoy stripped down to nothing and lay down beside Harry, facing the opposite direction.

Though his skin was soon slick with sweat, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his chest, Harry stayed where he was. He knew any movement would cause a spike in his headache. Even the act of lying still was a trial, however. He was forced to tense and relax his muscles constantly to keep them from aching as much. Hours passed before he was finally able to sleep.

Harry fell through the dark again, slamming into the damp ground so hard he thought for certain he heard something snap. As he began to groan, a soft light lit up the area. He glanced up to see a blurry, silver glow overhead. He tried blinking, but his vision would not focus.

As he stared upward, something brushed his hand. He glanced down and was nearly blinded by the bright white light. He squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a piercing migraine. The pain only swelled, however, until he lost all coherence.

When he opened his eyes again, he was hit by a different, softer light. This time when he blinked, the room came into focus around him. He was lying on the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. He glanced to his left and saw Malfoy still on his side, fast asleep. Outside the window, the sun was just rising.

Harry clumsily pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing as his muscles strained and his bones popped. He felt as though he had not slept at all. His head felt disconnected from the rest of his body, yet it still throbbed with every breath he took.

When Malfoy started to stir beside him, he pushed aside the pain and stood to leave. To his relief, the muscles in his legs had loosened.

His arms, however, pained him more than ever. Once on his feet, he let his muscles relax. Almost immediately, his elbows bent and his wrists contorted, his arms snapping up to his chest. The left angled just slightly upward while his right hand pointed toward his shoulder. The fingers pinched together, his muscles aching from the unnatural position. He strained his arms and, after a few moments, was finally able to lower them shakily to his sides. With more concentrated effort, he managed to curl his fingers into a loose fist.

He heard a groan behind him and hurried from the room without glancing back.

Harry spent breakfast hiding out in an empty classroom on the seventh floor. His stomach was rolling with hunger, but he could not even chance going to the kitchens in his present condition. Instead, he spent the next few hours in agonizing pain. He bent and twisted his arms in every way imaginable, biting his lip to keep quiet in case someone happened to pass the room. The muscles remained rigid, but by noon, he had trained himself to make small, semi-normal movements without wincing. He slowly lowered his arms to his side, took a deep breath, and stood.

The trip to the Great Hall seemed to take ages. Though Harry's legs worked fine, he found it hard to maneuver them while keeping his arms at his sides. After he nearly fell down the stairs between the fifth and sixth floors, he gauged the risk and decided to take it. He let his arms spring back to their unnatural positions and took to peeking around corners and constantly looking over his shoulder in paranoia. He need not have worried, however; he met no one in the corridors.

Outside the hall, Harry paused to collect himself. He bent his arms out and swung them a few times as practice. Then, he breathed in sharply, reformed his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression, and stepped inside.

When everyone in the Great Hall turned to look at him, he almost lost his nerve. He realized quickly that they were only looking because he was late though, so he fought to keep his composure as he moved toward the table. When he sat down, he thought he might have wavered for an instant, his left hand jerking, but no one appeared to notice.

"Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said, fixing him with her stern gaze. "Maybe you'll join us more often."

"Yes, Professor," Harry mumbled.

To his relief, she turned toward Professor Flitwick, but he barely had a reprieve before Neville leaned toward him. "Are you okay?" he asked in an undertone. "You're sweating."

"I'm fine," Harry said. He snapped his jaw shut as a particularly sharp bolt shot through his left arm. He folded the more-afflicted arm across his lap and reached for his glass.

As hungry as he was, the pain of movement quickly curbed Harry's appetite. He only made it through two pieces of chicken and a few sips of pumpkin juice before he could not trust himself to continue. He stood without explanation and turned for the door, resisting the urge to take off at a run.

Just in case someone decided to follow, Harry kept up the show for as long as he could, rounding a corner so he was out of sight of the door. He then let out a rush of air, his arms snapping back to his chest so sharply his muscles spasmed. He felt a scream rise in his throat but rushed to quell it, knowing any noise would bring people running from the Great Hall.

As soon as he felt able to walk again, Harry stumbled down the corridor, trying each door he came to. To his intense relief, the third was open. He half-fell into the empty classroom, leaning on the door to shut it. He let his arms snap back again and slid down to sit on the floor.

He could not go on like this. He knew it already and should have known it the moment he woke up. He should not have even come downstairs.

By pressing his back against the door and pushing hard with his legs, Harry managed to stand without moving his arms. He contorted his body until his left arm was by the doorknob and forced his fingers to close around it, pulling the door open.

Harry spotted Ron the moment he stepped out into the corridor, but he still could not move quick enough before Ron turned around.

"I knew you couldn't have gotten far," Ron said. "Not the way you were—What's wrong with your arms?"

"Nothing." Harry forced his arms to his sides, but he could not suppress a whimper as his muscles strained so hard he thought they might snap.

Ron rushed forward, grabbing him by the shoulders. "That's it. I don't care what McGonagall said. I'm taking you to the hospital wing."

Harry's heart slammed into his throat. What panicked him even more, however, were the distant footsteps he heard approaching. "Ron," he hissed, jerking his head toward the classroom.

Ron hesitated for so long, Harry considered taking off. Finally though, he pulled Harry into classroom and shut the door. "This had better be good," he said.

Thrown off balance by the movement, Harry took a moment to regain his footing. "I can't go to the hospital wing," he said through gasping breaths.

Ron gaped. "You're still on that? You can't hide this from McGonagall forever."

"Madam Pomfrey can't help me!" Harry sat on the nearest chair to ward off lightheadedness.

Ron's jaw snapped shut, his expression darkening. "You know what it is, don't you?"

Harry sighed, swallowing to avoid throwing up. "Yes," he said, "and I know how to fix it. But I need your help."

"You're positive it'll work?"

"Yes."

Ron stared. Then, he sighed. "What do you need?"

"I need you to help me get to the seventh floor. I barely got down here by myself. I'll pass out halfway there."

Ron paused for several moments again. Then he stepped forward and grabbed Harry's shoulders. When Harry jumped, he let go. "Sorry," he said. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." Harry did not quite meet his eyes.

With Ron's help, Harry was able to stand without moving his arms. Ron tried to help him cross the room, but Harry shook the hands off his shoulders.

Ron made no comment. He moved ahead to open the door, peeking out into the hall, and waved Harry forward. "It's clear."

Harry was not sure how long it took to get upstairs, but he would have wagered it was at least an hour. He handled the corridors fine, but the stairs were a trial. His arms were in constant agony even when he did not move them. Midway up the first staircase, his legs started shaking when he lifted them more than a couple of inches. Even with Ron to help him, he was exhausted before he even hit the halfway mark.

That was when the headaches started. Midway between the third and fourth floors, Harry doubled over, clutching his head.

Ron, who had moved ahead a few steps, doubled back. "Are you okay?"

"My head," Harry muttered, taking deep gulps of air. "It'll pass."

It did after a few moments, and they continued on. On the fifth floor, the next wave hit so intensely he stumbled and fell to his knees, his face contorting in pain.

Ron knelt beside him. "Please, just let me take you to the hospital wing."

"No," Harry growled through gritted teeth, forcing his watering eyes to open. "I told you, Pomfrey can't help me."

"I don't understand why not."

The pain ebbed. Harry took a shuddering breath but still did not respond.

After a long hesitation, Ron stood and helped him up.

Harry had one more episode on the sixth floor. He managed to stay on his feet by leaning against a wall, but the pain was accompanied by nausea this time and he retched. Ron said nothing, waving his wand to clean up the mess and continuing on.

"You're lucky we didn't run into anyone," Ron commented after helping Harry navigate the last few steps to the seventh floor.

"Yeah." Harry leaned against the wall again to catch his breath.

"How long will it take?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Could be a couple of days," he said finally.

"What about McGonagall? You heard what she said. She'll know something's wrong when you're not showing up for meals again."

Harry hesitated, forcing his mind to work. Then he had an idea. He took a steadying breath and wrenched his right arm toward his head, clumsily yanking out several hairs and handing them to Ron along with his glasses. "She'll only be watching for me. I'm sure Slughorn has Polyjuice potion around somewhere. The cloak's under my pillow."

"She'll notice if I don't show up for two days either."

"Then trade off with Neville. Tell him as much as you have to."

"What if I can find the potion? Or what if she sees through it and goes looking for you?"

"She won't find me."

Ron watched him for a long time. Then he sighed and continued down the corridor.

Harry waited until he was out of sight before pushing off from the wall. He had to move fast. If he had another headache and fell down again, he did not know if he would be able to stand on his own. Thankfully, he made it to the door without incident. With an agonizing contortion of his arm, he managed to open it.

Unfortunately, that was all he managed to do. His legs gave out when he tried to step inside. He dropped to his knees and retched again. This time, nothing came up.

He heard a sigh. "You idiot." Malfoy dragged Harry to his feet and shut the door.

"Leave off the sarcasm," Harry said, half-limping to the bed and falling onto it. "Just fix it."

Malfoy grabbed the desk chair and set it behind Harry's head, sitting down. "I'm sure I don't need to say it, but hold still." He settled his hands on either side of Harry's head and leaned forward.

The drop down the tunnel was so sudden it jolted Harry. It took only moments to hit the bottom, which felt just as cold and unnatural as ever. Still unable to move his arms, he struggled to sit up. The silvery light began to shine from overhead and he looked up. His stomach clenched. This time, the empty space over his head had doubled, and at least three times as many strands dangled down, crackling with electricity.

"What the hell did you do?" Malfoy asked. He stood a few feet away, also staring up.

"I didn't do anything."

"The barrier didn't just break down. Something punched a hole in it." He wavered slightly as he turned to Harry. "Was it him?"

"No," Harry said at once. "I don't know," he admitted after a moment.

Malfoy looked up again. "I need more light." He turned his palms upward, sending a dozen orbs of light into the air.

The tunnel lit up, revealing masses of dead gray tissue surrounding them. About thirty feet up, the gray began to turn pink.

"I'll salvage as much as I can," Malfoy said, waving his hand to extinguish the lights. "Hopefully that'll fix your arms."

"'Hopefully?'"

"Yes, I suggest you start hoping now." Malfoy flexed his fingers and jumped, soaring into the air. He slowed around the place where the dead gray tissue stopped and glanced back down briefly. Then he flew over to one wall and resting his hands against it.

Harry barely noticed the jolt of pain, but euphoria hit him so hard he almost mistook it for agony. He was not surprised this time when his vision blurred into a million colors, dropping off in a distant waterfall.

Pleasure filled his veins, spreading to the very tips of his frozen, contorted fingers. He stumbled toward the edge of the waterfall, peering toward the bottom. The urge to go over the edge was stronger than ever. There would be no coming back if he did. He would not have to feel pain ever again.

The logic seemed faulty even then. There was no such thing as living without pain. The closest thing was _Desdolor_, but Harry could hardly call that living. That knowledge was enough to keep him on the edge until the force reversed, pulling him backwards.

The colors faded to darkness and he found himself lying on the cold, damp ground again. As he sat up, his arms shifted. He stared down, flexing his fingers. They moved easily.

"The vacation's over, Potter." Malfoy touched back down. He appeared to be shaking slightly. "Ready?"

Harry pulled himself along the ground until he leaned against the wall. "Just do it."

Malfoy crouched down and, with one swift movement, punched his fists into the ground.

Harry was ready for the pain, but it still overwhelmed him. He jerked and fell to one side. His face landed in one of the black rivulets. Thick liquid coated his skin, flowing into his mouth. He choked as the daggers of pain in his head split into thousands.

The ground trembled. Harry heard someone cry out and suddenly the pain ceased. When he looked up, Malfoy was sitting, clutching his right hand. Blood spilled out over his skin.

"What the hell happened?" Harry asked between panting breaths, sitting up and spitting out the metallic black liquid.

"Control your mind, Potter," Malfoy snapped, "or it'll be more than your arms you can't move."

Harry stared at the bleeding hand. Had he done that? He had not meant to. He had done nothing different than he had the last time, had he? And what was that tremor he felt through the ground?

Malfoy seemed to have regained control of himself. He shifted onto his knees and plunged his uninjured hand back into the ground.

Pain erupted again from a million different points in Harry's head, sending all questions from his mind. This time, when he fell, he managed to fall on his back. As the daggers finally began to converge and the agony peaked, he consoled himself in the knowledge that it would stop soon.

Sure enough, the pain began to plateau and, very slowly, declined, though it did not go away. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but gray and darker gray. He felt a familiar nausea. He tried to move but was unsurprised when he could not.

"Can you hear me?" a voice asked. "Blink for yes."

Harry closed his eyes and forced them back open.

Something touched his head. "Do you want the potion?"

Harry did not move.

He heard a sigh. "Fine. Go to sleep then."

Harry let his eyes close again. He had a short reprieve. He knew this might be the last chance he had to relax for the next couple of days.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: pain, visions, and clashing tempers. As Harry recovers from the most recent repairs on his mind, he must fight to separate reality from illusion. I've finished the rough drafts of the last few chapters, so I'm going to optimistically say the story should be done by the end of June. There may be a short break around the week of June 9th, however, as I'm having my wisdom teeth pulled that day.


	38. Chapter 38: The Real and the Imagined

Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed. My advice is to pay close attention while reading this chapter. It might be a little confusing at times. I tried to make it as clear as possible, but some things aren't meant to make sense yet. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 38: The Real and the Imagined

Harry wanted to die. Never in his life had he admitted it so bluntly to himself. He was tired of being in constant agony. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. He could barely even control his movement between stabs of pain.

He heard people talking, but he could not understand them. His vision was still a blur of colors. It was light, so he assumed it was at least morning, though he had no idea what time it was.

"I knew it," a voice finally broke through the din. "I knew you had to have something to do with this. What the hell did you do to him?"

"Relax, Weasley. If I wanted to hurt him, I'd be a lot more creative."

"No, you'd be less."

Was that Ron? Harry knew he must be hallucinating. Ron could not be there. Besides, if he did walk in and find Harry lying unconscious, his first reaction would be to attack Malfoy, not talk to him.

A low hiss erupted in Harry's ears. He reached up, clumsily scratching at them.

"What's happening to him?"

"I don't know, but you might want to stop him before he hurts himself."

Hands grabbed Harry's wrists, wrenching them away from his ears. Luckily, the hissing had stopped by then. He squinted and Ron's form came into view above him. Harry's dry lips parted. "You're not real," he rasped out.

"He thinks he's hallucinating." Malfoy appeared, standing behind Ron. "He probably is."

"What's wrong with him?" Ron asked.

"He's in pain. Just like you'll be in about five seconds if you don't get out."

"Like hell I'm leaving you alone with him!"

"If I wanted to hurt him, I would've done it already."

Ron ignored him, leaning in closer to Harry. "Harry? Can you hear me?"

Harry blinked. Oddly, this did not seemed like a hallucination. As an experiment, he lifted his head off the bed slightly, wincing as the pounding in his skull intensified.

Ron jumped at the sudden movement.

Not a hallucination. Harry let himself fall back on the bed, letting out a rush of air.

"_How's my dear friend?_"

Harry twisted his head to the right and jumped, scrambling to the left edge of the bed. His vision blurred as pain lanced through his head, but he just stared with wide-eyed fear at the great snake that lay curled at his side, watching him with intelligent eyes.

Nagini.

"What is it?" Ron asked. A hand gripped Harry's shoulder.

"How'd she get here?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"Harry, there's nothing there."

_She's not real_. She certainly looked real. Her long body coiled around itself, her tongue flicking out at him. He reached out a tentative hand and met cool, very solid scales.

"Who do you see?"

Harry did not answer, frozen to the spot as Nagini slithered up onto to him, moving up his chest to hiss in his ear. "_Game's over. He wants you_."

As she slithered off of him and down the side of the bed, past Ron as though he was not even there, Harry's brain split in half. He screamed and twisted out of Ron's grasp so sharply he rolled onto his stomach, his face pressing into the pillow.

"Harry? _Harry!_"

"Roll him over before he suffocates."

Hands seized Harry's shoulders again and rolled him over onto his back. He barely noticed, however, as his mind ripped itself to shreds. He twisted and writhed, praying for it to stop.

"What's happening to him?"

_I'm dying_, Harry wanted to yell.

"I told you, he's in pain. Keep an eye on him in case he starts scratching."

After several agonizing minutes, the pain finally began to diminish. Harry collapsed back on the bed at once, too exhausted to do anything else. Still, he noticed he was making involuntary, jerky movements. He felt something wet on on either side of his face, creeping down from the corners of his eyes, and realized he was sobbing.

Ron gripped his shoulder, his face contorted with pity. "Can't we give him a potion?"

"He wouldn't take one."

_I changed my mind_.

"I don't believe you."

"He knew there'd be pain. Don't you think he would've taken the potion himself if he wanted it?"

_I changed my mind!_ Harry's jaw clamped shut. He could not talk. He could not even make himself stop crying.

"Wook at the poor ickle baby," a high pitched woman's voice cackled in baby-talk, "cwying for his mother. Let's send him to her."

Hands sprang over the side of the bed and grasped his arm. "Not yet, not yet." Nott's face appeared beside him, smeared with dirt. His eyes rolled madly. "Never yet." He gave a broken chuckle and slid back out of sight.

"Harry." Hands settled on his shoulders and Ron's face appeared. "Look at me."

"It won't do any good."

Ron ignored the other voice. "It's not real. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real."

_Not real?_

"Get out of here, Weasley. You're not doing him any favors."

Ron glanced back over his shoulder for a moment, then leaned slightly closer. "I found the potion," he whispered. "I'll be back later." His grip eased and he disappeared from view.

Harry closed his eyes. Moments later, he felt a pressure on the back of his head, lifting it off the bed. He squinted up at Malfoy. Something touched his lips and tepid water filled his mouth, making him sputter.

"Swallow," Malfoy said shortly.

Harry finally managed to choke down the water. He felt his head lower back down.

A moment later, he started gagging again. Malfoy swore and turned him on his side. Harry coughed and retched. A vile taste filled his mouth and warm liquid spilled down the side of his face.

"Pathetic," a new voice said. Someone peeled his eyelids back, but it was not Malfoy.

Snape crouched in front of him.

_What're you doing here?_ Harry's throat worked, but no words came out.

Nevertheless, Snape seemed to hear. He straightened up, letting Harry's eyes snap shut. "I brought her."

Harry fell onto his back again and felt the bed move as someone sat near his head. Something lighted on his forehead and a soft voice spoke. "It's okay. I'm here."

Harry forced his eyes open again. _Hermione?_

"Shh," she pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't try to talk. You need to save your strength."

But he barely heard, and this time, he managed a few words. "Why are you here?"

Hermione did not answer. She leaned down, kissing his forehead. "I'll stay with you, okay?" The bed shifted as she stood and disappeared from view.

A moment later, Harry's vision went dark.

-

Harry's hands locked around the arms of his chair, his teeth clenching as he felt the jolt of pain through his head.

"My lord?" Bellatrix looked up from her position kneeling on the floor.

"Is Nott talking yet?" Harry demanded.

"He's talking plenty, but he's not making sense. I tried everything I could think of."

"Hmm." Harry stood and crossed to the window. He settled his hands against the sill to hide that they were starting to shake.

"Should I try again?"

Harry curled his thin fingers into fists. "He doesn't know anything. Dispose of him."

"Yes, my lord."

-

"I need these potions."

"Is Harry Potter all right?"

"He will be if you get me these potions."

Harry heard the scamper of feet and a slamming door that drove a knife deep into his brain. He rolled onto his side, coughing. He felt like his throat was lined with razor-blades and his mouth with cotton. The slightest movement of his throat sent bolts of agony through his entire neck until he was sure he would be tasting blood soon.

He could not say for sure when Nagini returned. She did not speak this time, just coiled around herself and settled her head down by his shoulder. Even when he tried not to look at her, he could feel her there, watching him.

The door creaked open again. "Wait out here a moment." It shut quickly. "Get out."

"You can't order me around, Weasley."

"Neville wants to see him."

"Well, Longbottom can wait."

"He's coming in whether you like it or not. I'm only warning you because Harry would want me to."

There was silence for a moment. Then a door slammed so loudly Harry cringed.

The other door creaked again. Ron moved into Harry's vision, touching his arm. "Harry?"

"What's wrong with him?" Neville appeared at Ron's side.

"I don't know."

"Shouldn't he be in the hospital wing?"

"He said Madam Pomfrey can't help him."

"How can we know that if we don't know what it is?"

Ron hesitated but finally just shrugged. "He knows."

Unable to take their looks of pity, Harry let his head fall to the side. Unfortunately, this brought him face to face with Nagini and he jolted, clumsily using his arms to propel himself away from her. His shoulder ran into someone's legs, keeping him from going over the edge of the bed.

"What's he doing?"

"He thinks there's something over there." Ron's hand moved to Harry's shoulder. "There's nothing there."

Harry did not believe him. The snake sharing his bed, flicking her tongue in his face, seemed very real to him. More real than Ron or Neville.

"We should probably go," Ron said. "There's nothing we can do for him by being here."

They disappeared from his view. The door closed with a soft click, leaving him alone with Nagini.

Or so he thought, until Hermione reappeared where Ron had been. "It's okay," she said. "Just ignore them and they'll go away."

Harry could not ignore Nagini. She was taking up half the bed and seemed to be moving closer to his face every moment. He looked back up at Hermione. He was not even sure she was real.

Hermione glanced briefly to her left and brushed the hair from Harry's forehead. "I have to go now. But I'll be right here if you need me, okay?" She walked away.

Nagini slithered up onto Harry's neck. He closed his eyes. _She's not real. She's not real._

His brain split again. The pain was unbearable, but the pressure on his throat stifled his scream. He could not breath. He clawed at Nagini, struggling to get her off his throat as red spots broke out across his vision.

Someone grabbed his shoulders, hauling him up. The pressure on his neck released as Nagini slipped into his lap. He sucked in a lungful of air, coughing as his eyes watered.

The door creaked open and shut. "Dobby brought the potions."

Harry felt himself lowered back against the headboard and heard footsteps. "Get some water." As his vision cleared, Malfoy grabbed his chin, forcing Harry to look at him. "Open your mouth." He tipped a vial up to Harry's lips.

Warm, slightly sweet liquid filled Harry's mouth. It coated his throat and burn a path all the way to his stomach. He felt slightly nauseous, but to his surprise, he did not retch.

Malfoy lowered the vial and lifted another. This one tasted like muddy water, and Harry almost spit it back out. Malfoy held his jaw shut, forcing him to swallow. Again, he did not throw up.

Malfoy glanced at something out of Harry's range. "Take these." A moment later, a hard edge touched his lips. "Last one," Malfoy said.

This one was water. Harry gulped it down, desperate to quench his thirst. To his surprise, Malfoy did not pull it away, letting him finish the entire glass. Then he helped Harry lie back down.

Nagini slithered back up onto his chest, staring at him.

"You can go."

"What's Harry Potter looking at?"

"Get out!"

The door squeaked and slammed shut. Harry groaned, arching his back slightly.

"Try not to move, Potter. Rest."

Too tired to do anything else, Harry let his eyes close, drifting off with Nagini still weighing down on his chest.

-

"It can't be done, my lord. Not without causing irreparable damage."

Harry ground his teeth together. "Find a way."

The man he was speaking to—after a moment, Harry recognized him as Rodolphus Lestrange—backed up a few steps. "There isn't one. Potions isn't my area, and if Snape couldn't find one—"

"There has to be a way!" Harry exploded, making Rodolphus cower. He fought to rein himself in, speaking cooly. "You and your wife are on shaky ground. I'd hate for you to fall through."

"Yes, my lord." Rodolphus bowed, backing out of the room as fast as he could.

"_Nagini!_" Harry hissed.

The great snake slithered across the floor, curling around his feet. She looked up, waiting for orders.

"_Don't leave the house anymore. You're not to go anywhere unless I order it._"

Nagini made a couple more rounds around Harry before slithering off. He stared after her, silently fuming.

-

"He already doesn't know what's real. You'll confuse him."

"I'm not going to sit outside for fifteen minutes. Get out of my way."

"Fine. I just thought you should know."

In the fading light, a dark shadow blocked Harry's vision. He blinked and, slowly, the person's face came into view.

It was himself.

"Harry?" the other him said. "It's me, Ron."

Harry turned his face away. Nagini had disappeared now. Harry knew she was with Voldemort, so there was no way she could be with him.

Common sense did not prevent the hands that reached up and gripped the sheets, propelling Nott back onto the bed.

"You're not real," Harry whispered. The pounding in his head intensified.

"It's just the Polyjuice," his own voice said above him. "It'll wear off soon."

Harry did not move his eyes from Nott. "You're dead."

"Harry—"

"Who's dead?"

"Stay out of this!"

Malfoy appeared behind Nott, crouching down and fixing Harry with a stare. "Potter?"

When Harry's lips parted, Nott's hand clamped over them. "I should've killed you," he hissed in Harry's ear.

The bugs crawled out from Nott's grimy hand this time. Thousands upon thousands spread out over his cheeks and down his neck. By the time Nott slid out of sight, Harry was writhing, scratching as the bugs descended over his chest and shoulders.

Malfoy sprang forward to hold his arms down. "Full Body Bind!" he yelled at the other Harry.

Harry felt something hit him. His arms snapped to his sides, his legs melded together, and his jaw clamped shut. He let out a strangled scream, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry." The other Harry looked down at him. Something was different about him. There were freckles on his face, and his hair was starting to lighten. A few moments later, he took his glasses off and pocketed them.

"He'll thank you when he doesn't wake up bleeding," Malfoy said, standing.

The other him, who had transformed into Ron, straightened up, too. "I'll be back in the morning." He walked away.

Malfoy sat down again, pressing the back of his hand against Harry's forehead. Then, he lay down, folding his hands over his chest.

Harry wished he could have turned away. He wished he could do anything but lie staring at the ceiling, tears soaking his cheeks because his skin itched so badly it burned.

Hour after hour passed. The room darkened until it was pitch black. All Harry could hear outside of his own occasional, strangled whimper was Malfoy's steady breathing beside him. He could feel his sanity slipping. With every passing moment, he lost another inch, slipping toward oblivion.

He was not entirely sure that it was unwelcome.

-

Harry sat on the floor in the middle of a dark room. The only light came from overhead, lighting up a bed a few feet away. Someone was lying on it, but he could not see who.

"You're early."

Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who stood beside him in his long purple dressing gown, staring out at the bed.

"Who is that?" Harry asked.

"Does it matter?" Dumbledore paused. "Do you remember what I told you?"

Harry nodded. "I can't save everyone. But I don't—Where are we?"

"Your last refuge." The floor trembled suddenly, the overhead light flickering. "There isn't much time. It's almost here."

Harry turned toward the bed again. "What's almost here?"

There was no answer. When he looked back up, Dumbledore was replaced by Hermione. She was nearly skeletal, her hair matted beyond repair.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked.

She glanced down at him. "You already know." She held out a piece of folded parchment.

Just as Harry was about to take it, the ground gave another jolt. Hermione tumbled to the floor. The next crash sent the overhead light crashing to the floor, throwing them into total darkness.

There was a loud rumble, and Harry's head erupted in searing pain. He heard a hiss and a bloodcurdling scream. "Hermione!" he yelled. He tried to leap toward the spot where he had seen her fall, but he was frozen to the spot.

Harry's mind shattered, and the world went with it. He was aware of nothing. He could not tell up from down, could not separate the noises he heard from the roaring in his ears. Even when he tried to scream, he could not know for certain if he had or not. He could no longer feel his throat, or any other part of his body for that matter besides his agonized brain. He wanted to die. When the pain started to drop off, he was sure he had gotten his wish. How else could the pain finally be coming to an end?

Then the feeling started to come back to his limbs. His muscles ached so much he was nearly immobilized and his eyes stung so badly he could barely open them. The pain in his head diminished to nothing, however, or at least something close enough to nothing that he could not feel it anymore.

"Are you waking up, Potter?"

Harry squinted at Malfoy and nodded.

Malfoy straightened up. "Get up then. You weren't detoxing this time. You should be able to walk fine."

Harry struggled to sit up, his muscles screaming from nonuse. "What time is it?"

"Almost lunch. You've been here two and a half days."

Two and a half days. That meant Harry had been unconscious for one and a half. He lifted one of his hands, surprised at how steady it was. It was hard to believe that only three days previous his arms were locked in place, barely able to move. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up without wavering.

"Was Ron really here?" Harry asked as he shuffled to the wardrobe, still a bit wary of his balance.

Malfoy nodded. "And Longbottom."

_But not Hermione_. Harry pulled off his shirt and retrieved a clean one.

"Who died?"

Harry paused midway through undoing his belt. He shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

"Who was it?"

Harry pulled up the clean pair of trousers, buttoning them with shaking fingers. He was halfway to the door before he spoke. "Theodore Nott."

He left as quickly as he could, but not before he saw Malfoy sit down hard on the floor out of the corner of his eye.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Next chapter: the wounded, the dying, and the dead. The world is falling apart in more ways than one, and Harry is about to discover a terrible truth. Just two chapters and an epilogue to go, folks. I extend my thanks to everyone who wished me luck with my wisdom teeth. I may post another chapter before I go, but if not, I guess I'll see you all on the other side.


	39. Chapter 39: Beneath the Surface

Author's Note: A thousand thanks to all reviewers. Looks like I managed one more chapter before my wisdom teeth come out after all. I don't really have any notes on this chapter, so enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 39: Beneath the Surface

The common room was empty. Harry assumed that just meant it was time for lunch, so he left, wandering downstairs, half-blind without his glasses. When he arrived in the Great Hall, however, it was also empty. Confused, he wandered down the corridors, trying to think of where everyone could be. After several moments, he decided to try the hospital wing. At least he could find Madam Pomfrey there and ask her what was going on.

As he rounded the last corner, he stopped dead in his tracks, gaping. Even without his glasses, he could see that the corridor outside the hospital wing was lined with beds, at least twenty on each side, every one of them occupied. Harry could see that the patients closest to him were all strapped down to their beds. Half a dozen professors and other members of the staff were working in pairs changing bandages: Vector and Sinistra, Sprout and Hooch, Pince and Trelawney. Professor Flitwick appeared to be officiating, holding a clipboard and walking along the hall, occasionally pointing someone out and dealing out an order.

He barely spared a glance for Harry. "Nice of you to join us, Mr. Potter," he said, jerking his head toward the hospital wing. "Madam Pomfrey will give you your assignment."

Harry blinked, the question of what was going on dying in his throat as he caught sight of one of the nearby, restrained bed inhabitants, who was trying to bite Madam Pince. It was Anya Petrov, one of the werewolves from Grimmauld Place. With a sinking in the pit of his stomach, he stepped into the hospital wing.

If things were chaotic outside, they were worse inside. There were only about ten beds, but Harry recognized all of their occupants as Order members, even if he could not give names to them all. Among them, Harry recognized Elphias Dodge, Dedalus Diggle, and Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Fleur Weasley. Every one of them was unconscious and heavily bandaged. Around them bustled three more working pairs: McGonagall and Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Roland Davidson, Neville and Hagrid. Madam Pomfrey was serving as both an officiator and a solitary worker, rushing around to check pulses and temperatures.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley dropped the bandages she had been wrapping around Dedalus Diggle's head and grabbed Harry in a tight hug. She had some nasty scratches on her arms and a bruise along her jaw, but otherwise appeared to be fine. "Oh, dear. Where are your glasses?"

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry said. "What—?"

"Potter!" Madam Pomfrey barked when she spotted him, dropping Elphias Doge's wrist and jotting something on her clipboard. "You're with Weasley! Davidson, join Shacklebolt on guard!"

Davidson nodded once, finished bandaging a middle-aged witch's mangled leg, and left the room at a fast pace.

"We'll talk later." Mrs. Weasley released Harry and hurried back to Diggle's side.

Not wanting to be scolded, Harry moved to join Ron.

When Madam Pomfrey looked away, Ron leaned forward, handing him his glasses. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine. What the hell happened?"

"Slughorn's Wolfsbane Potion failed. Mum's the only guard who made it out."

"Where's Ginny?"

"She's helping Slughorn with the potions. Mum didn't want her up here."

"What about Tonks and Lupin?"

"They're fine. Aura set up a makeshift bedroom in one of the classrooms upstairs so they'll be out of the way."

Within half an hour, Harry was not surprised Mrs. Weasley had not wanted Ginny there. The work never seemed to end. Since magic did not work on werewolf wounds, they were forced to treat them the Muggle way, dressing and redressing them when the blood soaked through. They used potions designed to clean wounds and slow the bleeding, supplied by a pair of house-elves who popped back and forth between the hospital wing and Slughorn's office, but they did little to help. Though Harry washed his hands constantly, his skin was soon stained with blood. Everywhere he turned there were inflamed wounds oozing pus. Bill seemed to be the only one immune to this, an anomaly Harry attributed to the attack by Fenrir Greyback months previous.

The other groups had just as much trouble. All of the patients were unconscious, which meant they were working with dead weight when it came to shifting them to change their bandages. In spite of having to favor his injured right hand, Hagrid seemed to have the easiest time. He and Neville had worked out a system where he held up the injured limb while Neville slipped the bandages underneath.

Every hour a pair was allowed to stop for a bite to eat from food brought by another pair of house-elves. By the time he and Ron were able to stop, Harry's forehead was dripping with sweat. They sat in silence, using the time more to rest than to eat. Five minutes later, it was back to work. At the four hour mark, they switches jobs with the groups in the corridor. Madam Pomfrey and Flitwick were the only ones who did not move.

Harry soon discovered that not all of the patients in the hall were injured. Almost all of them were strapped down, however, even ones who were unconscious and ones who just lay back, blinking at the ceiling.

"This is ridiculous!" Ron proclaimed as he jumped back to avoid the teeth of a boy who seemed about six years old. The boy's eyes rolled madly in his head as he strained against the straps holding him down. "Why can't we knock them out?"

"We have to keep track of who's conscious," Flitwick said. "Let Hagrid and Longbottom handle the boy. You two check on bed 14."

"Bed 14" was Ivan Petrov. He was also strapped down, but unlike his sister, he was unconscious. A large chunk of flesh had been ripped out of his side, and his bandages were soaked through.

Harry retrieved fresh bandages and started to unwrap the old ones. "Help me roll him over."

"No need," Ron said. His face had turned ashen, two fingers resting against Ivan's neck. "He's dead."

Harry dropped the bandages and grabbed the boy's tiny wrist. His skin was cold as ice, and sure enough, there was no pulse.

Flitwick appeared at his side. He shook his head and wrote something on his clipboard, shouting down the hall. "Minerva! We've got a body!"

"Step aside, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said as she and Mrs. Weasley stepped up. They unstrapped Ivan's restraints and pulled the sheet over him.

Harry continued to stare. Then he glanced down the corridor. "Someone should tell his sister," he said. "Does anyone speak Russian?"

No one replied for a long time. Mrs. Weasley was the one to break the silence. "I'll take him by her," she said. She levitated the body off the bed and floated him down the hall. Moments later, they heard angry, incoherent screaming.

Flitwick sighed. "Poppy!" he called. "We're going to need a sedative out here!"

There were five more bodies that day. The four others from the corridor were quietly bundled up and whisked away by either Mrs. Weasley or one of the professors. The moment Madam Pomfrey came out of the hospital wing and called Mrs. Weasley to her, however, everyone stopped what they were doing. They watched with baited breath as Madam Pomfrey whispered her message. Mrs. Weasley's hand flew up to her mouth and she let out a choked sob, sitting down hard on the floor.

"Mum!" Ron rushed to her side.

"What happened?" Harry demanded as Madam Pomfrey approached him.

"We lost Charlie Weasley," she said.

In an instant, Harry's world shrunk to the span of his vision, then further narrowed. He clutched at the wall between two beds, leaning against it.

"Focus, Potter," Madam Pomfrey said. "We're two workers down. We can't afford to lose you, too."

Harry took a deep breath and nodded, stopping when it made his vision blur. "What do you need me to do?"

"Go down to the dungeons. Tell Miss Weasley about her brother and send her up to be with her family. Then I'll need you to stay down there and help Professor Slughorn."

Harry's stomach clenched, but he nodded. After Madam Pomfrey retreated back into the hospital wing, it was a long time before he pushed off from the wall. By then, Mrs. Weasley and Ron had already gone back inside, too, leaving him to wander off by himself. No one said a word to him as he left.

Strong fumes assaulted Harry as he walked through the dungeons. His head was swimming by the time he reached the Potions classroom. Though there were only two people working inside, there was no reprieve from the bustling atmosphere of upstairs. Slughorn was rushing between a dozen different cauldrons, stirring one, adding crushed beetles to another.

A pair of house-elves were trailing after him. "Madam Pomfrey says no more pain potions, sir," one said. "She wants more to stop bleeding."

"Tell her it'll be another half an hour," Slughorn said shortly. He glanced at Harry, but only gave him a small nod before returning to his work.

Harry took a deep breath and moved over to Ginny, who was currently sitting at a table in the corner, chopping up caterpillars. She was surrounded by heaps of other potion ingredients, some of which he did not even recognize.

She did not look up until he was standing over her. "Harry?" She stood and wrapped her arms around him. "Are you okay? I heard you were sick."

"I'm fine," Harry said, numbly hugging her back. The fumes were starting to make him feel nauseous. "Um...I have to tell you something."

She released him, fixing him with an expectant stare.

Harry stole himself up and finally spoke. "Charlie's dead."

"W..." Ginny stumbled backwards and her shin slammed into the bench. She stifled a cry and sat down hard, clutching her leg.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine." Her voice broke as tears welled in her eyes. "Wait don't..."

Harry ignored her. He crouched down, carefully pulling up the leg of her trousers. She had strips of sheets serving as makeshift bandages wrapped around the entirety of her lower leg, leaving bits of skin exposed. Spots of blood had already started to soak through near her knee. He gently touched the spot. "You were bitten?"

Ginny glanced at Slughorn to make sure he was not listening before nodding. "I just got up to use the loo. I didn't know they were out."

"Your mum doesn't know, does she?"

She shook her head, wiping her eyes. "I wrapped it up in my room before she came to get me. I was going to tell her, but she was already so upset about the others, I just couldn't."

"You have to let Madam Pomfrey look at this. It's probably infected."

"I know."

"She sent me down to take over for you. Go."

She stared at him for a moment. Then she settled a hand on the table and pushed herself to her feet. "Thank you."

Harry reached out a hand to support her. "Do you need help getting upstairs?"

"No, I'll be fine." She stepped away from him, limping toward the door.

Harry sat on the bench, picked up the knife, and set to work. Slughorn barely seemed to notice that Harry had replaced Ginny, giving orders as though he had been there the whole time. Harry suspected that he was shaken up. After all, his failed potion was the cause of all this. Without Lupin, the Order must have been hard pressed to find anyone qualified enough to make the Wolfsbane Potion. Now they all had to deal with the consequences.

After several hours of work, by the end of which Harry felt close to passing out from the fumes, Slughorn finally sent him away. "Tell Madam Pomfrey I'll have this batch ready in about an hour," he said.

Madam Pomfrey nodded when she got this news. "Things are slowing down up here," she said. "You and Longbottom can go."

"Are you sure?" Neville asked.

She nodded. "I'll send someone for you if you're needed."

So, well after midnight, Harry and Neville set out for Gryffindor Tower, moving slowly on aching legs. Neither spoke. Harry was still reeling from the potion fumes, his lungs burning with every breath. They walked past the Room of Requirement, but he did not even think about going inside. Instead, he followed Neville to the dormitory, where he fell on his bed and shut his eyes, blacking out almost at once.

-

He was lying in a filthy cell, surrounded on three sides by stone with bars on the fourth. His glasses were bent and broken on one side, leaving him to squint through the other. His legs did not seem to want to work, so he had to drag himself to the bars, peering out into the narrow, dimly lit corridor.

There was someone lying on the floor of the next cell, unmoving, face turned away so all Harry could see was a mess of matted hair. Besides that, the surrounding cells were empty.

Finally, he saw some movement. A figure cloaked in shabby brown robes came into view, face hidden by a large hood. All he could see were the hands, bone thin and covered in gray, scabbed skin. The palm of the right hand was burned black. "Hermione?"

She stopped, turning toward him. Then she slowly reached up, lowering her hood. It was the skeletal Hermione from his hallucination, her face the same gray as her hands. She stared down at him with dead eyes.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"You already know," she replied.

Harry opened his mouth to speak again but a low hiss cut him off. When he whirled around to look behind him, a rush of light filled his vision and a searing pain erupted in his head.

He sat up in bed, breathing heavily. The dormitory was still dark, so he knew he must have been asleep for only a few hours at the most. Thinking he would not be able to get back to sleep, he got out of bed and tiptoed to the door, careful not to wake Neville.

He had meant to go back to the hospital wing, but he only made it halfway across the seventh floor before nausea hit him so strongly he had to stop. Fear gripped him. It was from the potion fumes, he tried to tell himself. He had spent too long in the dungeons. That was all. Still, the feeling did not go away, and a headache was starting to form at the base of his skull. He kicked the wall, rewarded with a jolt of pain through his entire foot. He leaned against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor, groaning.

-

"Harry?"

Harry blinked and looked up. He had drifted off slumped against the wall. "I'm fine," he said, anticipating Neville's question. He stood, clutching the wall to keep from falling.

When they reached the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey put them straight to work. They were working just with the professors that day. Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and Ginny had been set up with a room down the hall from the hospital wing. Kingsley and Davidson were elsewhere, still acting as guards. Harry was beginning to think that the supposed team of Aurors that had been patrolling the school since they arrived did not really exist. He had not seen a single one aside from Davidson.

Many of the patients' wounds had stopped bleeding by lunchtime and a couple of the Order members were starting to wake up, so Madam Pomfrey started letting pairs have an hour off at a time to rest and eat. Harry was feeling nauseated again by that time his and Neville's turn came, however, so he ate very little.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Neville asked.

"I'm fine," Harry said, forcing down two more pieces of chicken to prove it. He wished that he had not, as he soon had to make an excuse to run for the loo when it all came back up. He was in trouble, and he knew it. The barriers in his mind were not holding. For all he knew, they had already failed. He could only wonder how long he would be able to hide it.

When he and Neville returned from their break, Fred and George had arrived. Ron soon joined them working in the hospital wing again. "Mum's still sleeping," he said. Madam Pomfrey had insisted that Ginny continue to rest, so she had been transferred into Charlie's empty bed, her injured leg propped up on a pillow.

There was little time to sit and talk, however, as Neville and Harry were put back to work. Now that patients were starting to wake up, the workers went around with their own clipboards and put them through a series of tests to test their motor functions. The most aggressive werewolves were left out, of course. In fact, after lunch, Madam Pomfrey had the unhurt ones moved into an empty classroom and only allowed workers in teams of at least six to check on them every couple of hours.

Finally, as the sun started to set, Harry and Neville were allowed another break and told they could go to bed after they finished eating.

"I'll be up later," Harry said when Neville got up to leave. His own plate was still over half full, but he knew he would not be eating any more.

A few minutes after Neville disappeared from view, Harry was on his feet. He left the classroom that served as a dining area and, avoiding the corridor outside the hospital wing, started walking. He wanted to be sure his muscles were not going to seize up, but even after he was, he kept going. He left the building and walked all over the grounds until he was sweating and had a stitch in his chest. He felt slightly better, though his nausea still had not lifted. He stopped by the lake for a moment to catch his breath.

That was when the hissing started. It was very low and seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. He whipped around, searching for the source, but he saw nothing. He listened carefully. It sounded like a snake, but if it was Parseltongue it was gibberish, because he could not understand it. He thought of Nagini and shuddered. He started back for the school, suddenly feeling unsafe out in the open.

He was halfway to the castle when the ground shifted and cracked beneath him. He attempted to jump out of the way and lost his balance, sitting down hard.

The shaking stopped. He blinked and stared at the ground. It was undisturbed, with barely a ripple in the grass. Confused, he closed his eyes, pressing his palms against them.

He was lying in a barren wasteland on the edge of a roaring canyon, which widened with every passing moment. As he peered into the dark depths, an incoherent hiss echoed up to greet him. The ground gave a jolt that nearly knocked him from his perch.

He opened his eyes and he was back on Hogwarts grounds. He tried to get up, but his legs gave out. He fell again, landing back in the wasteland. This time, when he looked over the edge, his grip slipped and he tumbled down. His useless limbs banged against the sides of the canyon. Halfway down, the canyon transformed into a tunnel. As he fell, he passed through a hole in a collection of silvery threads that spanned the tunnel. Moments later, he slammed into the ground.

Spots exploded behind his eyelids. He tried to push himself up, but he could not. Every bone in his body felt broken. The most he could move was his neck. He peered around in the darkness.

The ground started to rumble again and something exploded out of it just a few feet away, filling the air with that unnatural hiss. Harry turned his head and was met with a bright, blinding light. He blinked and squinted at it, wishing that his skull would stop pounding.

Then, finally, his vision adjusted, and he saw the thing that was hissing.

At first, Harry thought it was two snakes curled around each other, but then he realized that it was one giant snake with two heads. Coil after coil of its body crawled up out of the hole it had burrowed in the soft ground. One of the heads shone so brilliantly white it hurt to look at, while the other was mottled gray and dull. Where the heads joined together, the colors joined as well, fusing in alternating bands down the length of the snake's body.

The white snake head, the larger of the two, seemed to be trying to pull away from the other. The gray, meanwhile, was hissing and striking at its neighbor, determined to pull them in the other direction.

As Harry watched, something else broke through the din. Harry craned his neck and saw Hermione crouched by the wall of the tunnel, breathing harshly. Her wide eyes focused on the snake.

"Why are you here?" Harry thought he knew what the answer would be.

Which was why he was surprised when she looked his way. "Because you've already figured it out."

By the time Harry was aware that he had woken, he was already on his feet, setting a swift pace back into the castle. His hair whipped out behind him and sweat dripped down his face, but he ignored it, taking the stairs two at a time. When he reached the seventh floor, he had to stop for a moment, wheezing and shaking from head to toe. He only waited for the shaking to stop, however, before continuing on to the Room of Requirement.

Malfoy was sitting in the corner with his legs crossed, staring blankly at the chessboard. He did not even seem to notice Harry's presence until the door slammed. He jerked violently and looked up. "What do you want?"

"My clothes," Harry said. "When I change my clothes here, where do you put them?"

"In the bottom of the wardrobe for the elf to get later. Why?"

Harry was already at the wardrobe, throwing the door open. He dug through the trouser pockets until he found what he was looking for: the folded bit of parchment he had pulled from Hermione's book the day she left. He saw the sketches of a snake and various shapes, all with lines slicing them in half, along with the scrawled words and phrases: "bond," "break apart," "parasite." The latter word had something else after it. Harry had mistaken it for just a scribble the first time he looked at it. Now, he recognized it as another word.

_Soul_.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. I know it's quite a cliffhanger. Next chapter: a memory, a potion, and a plan. One piece lies in the path of Harry's victory, but is the sacrifice too great? Things are really winding down now. Just one chapter and an epilogue to go.


	40. Chapter 40: Checkmate

Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed and, once more, thanks to everyone who wished me luck with my wisdom teeth. They still pain me some, but I have good drugs. I noticed that reaction to the last chapter was a bit lukewarm. I expected as such. To the question about the patients: yes, all of the people who were bitten will become werewolves, including Ginny. I know this answer might not make many people happy, but it is what it is. Now, this chapter might be a bit confusing. Different readers will probably figure things out at different speeds. There are also a few things left deliberately ambiguous that will be revealed in the epilogue. I'll tell you now, this chapter may piss off a few people. Just know that this is the way I planned it from the beginning. That said, enjoy.

- - - - -

Chapter 40: Checkmate

Harry spent the last few hours of that night in the common room, but Aberforth did not come. Harry was forced to work through the next day, putting on a careful mask every time someone spoke to him. They knew there was something wrong. They always did. It seemed as though everyone asked how he was that day. Even patients with half their legs bitten off asked if he was all right.

He always answered with the same lie. He was fine. He was just tired.

He wanted to sneak away, but he knew there was no point. If Aberforth was going to check in at all that day, it would be after sundown. In the meantime, he needed to keep everyone else from worrying about him just in case he was wrong. He knew he was not, but a part of him still hoped he was.

Nightfall came sooner than he wanted it to. He trudged back to the Gryffindor common room with Neville. "I'm going to stay down here for a bit," he said.

Neville looked a little worried, but he just bid Harry good night and went upstairs, leaving him alone in front of the empty fireplace.

Hours passed. Harry was exhausted, but he did not dare fall asleep. He knew Aberforth would probably wake him up, but he did not want to risk ending up at the bottom of that tunnel again. Even though he knew what was down there now, he still did not want to go to it.

Finally, the fireplace flared and Aberforth appeared inside. "Mr. Potter," he said, "is something wrong?" 

Harry leaned forward. "I need to talk to Hermione."

"Just a minute." Aberforth vanished from view for a while. Then he reappeared. "Step on through. Don't worry about giving a destination, it's already set." He disappeared again, and green flames shot up into the air.

Harry glanced around to make sure he was alone before stepping forward. The flames swept around him and he plummeted. He felt a small swell of panic as he whooshed past unfamiliar fireplaces but suppressed it when he began to slow down.

He stumbled out into Aberforth and Snape's tiny, wood-walled sitting room. If possible, it was even messier than the last time he had seen it, books and parchment scattered everywhere. Hermione was curled up on the couch under a ratty blanket, a book propped open on her legs. When she saw Harry, she leapt to her feet, nearly tripping over the blanket in her rush to hug him. "Ron told me you were sick," she said. "Are you okay?"

Unable to lie, Harry ignored the question. "I need to talk to you," he said. He glanced briefly at Aberforth. "Alone."

She nodded as though she understood completely. "Let's walk."

She led him outside. A blast of muggy air that smelled vaguely of manure hit them the moment they stepped out the door. The wooden shack stood in the middle of a forest clearing. Harry quickly located the source of the smell: a small herd of goats grazing nearby. As they approached, the goats moved out of their way, scrambling to find tufts of grass on the almost barren ground.

"We should be fine here," Hermione said a few feet into the forest, leaning against a tree. "What is it?"

Harry wordlessly pulled the folded bit of parchment from his pocket and handed it to her.

She stared down at it for several moments.

He could not take the silence. "The 'parasite soul?'" he said slowly. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm so sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"How long have you known?"

"A while. Since I used the floor plan to find Horcruxes in Grimmauld Place." She shook her head lightly, wiping her eyes. "I wanted so badly to be wrong. You have no idea how many times I checked and double-checked."

"Did you find a way to get rid of it?" Harry already knew the answer.

She looked apprehensive. "Not yet. We're still looking."

"'We?' Aberforth and Snape know?"

"I didn't tell them. They already knew."

"How?"

Hermione glanced back in the direction of the shack. "There's something you need to see. I think it'll answer your questions. Come on."

They walked back in silence. Aberforth was outside now, walking around the perimeter of the clearing, his wand drawn. He raised a hand in greeting but said nothing.

Once inside, Hermione went to the couch again and grabbed her book bag from behind it. She drew a dark vial from a small pocket on the front, handing it to Harry. Inside, he could just make out a silver strand of memory.

As he stared at it, Hermione moved to the fireplace, throwing in a handful of Floo Powder. "Let's go then."

The common room was empty when they arrived. "Wait here," Harry said. If Neville woke up, Harry did not want him to see Hermione and start asking questions.

He need not have worried. Neville slept on as Harry retrieved the shrunken cabinet and carried it back down to the common room.

"Is this Dumbledore's memory?" Harry asked as Hermione dumped the vial's contents into the Pensieve and prodded it with her wand.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't watched it. Snape said it was for your eyes only."

_Snape?_ Harry was already starting to regret this. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and leaned forward, plunging his face into the Pensieve. He pitched forward and tumbled through the darkness.

As he had expected, he touched down in Dumbledore's office. The headmaster sat behind his desk, but he had no paperwork this time. Instead, only his wand and his injured arm rested on the desk.

The door burst open and Snape barged in, planting both hands on the back of a chair in the middle of the room. "I knew you'd try to change my mind, but this time you've taken it too far."

Dumbledore picked up his wand and pointed it at the door, which creaked shut. "This isn't about that, Severus."

"You know damn well—"

"I found the locket. Harry and I will retrieve it tomorrow night. I believe that's when Draco will make his move."

"You really expect me to believe Potter's a—"

Dumbledore let his good hand fall to the desk with a loud smack that made both Snape and Harry jump. "I need someone alive who knows the truth."

The sudden violent reaction was so unlike Dumbledore, Harry could only gape at him. Snape seemed similarly afflicted for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "It's true?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly and nodded.

Snape's face turned ashen and he moved around the chair to sit down. "How?"

"I told you once before. The night Voldemort attacked the Potters, he inadvertently transferred a bit of himself into Harry."

Snape flinched slightly at the mention of Voldemort's name. "Does the Dark Lord know?"

"Based on your reports, I suspect he's known for a little less than a year. It would certainly explain why he is no longer ordering for Harry's death. Most likely, he discovered his mistake when he possessed Harry at the Ministry last summer." Dumbledore glanced out the window. The sun had just begun to sink below the horizon. "After I'm gone, I want you to do whatever he asks of you. You're no good to us dead."

"I'm not going to—"

"You already agreed. We're not going to argue about this. I need to know you'll tell Harry the truth when he's ready."

"Look, if you want me to start researching ways to get it out, just say so."

"There is no way."

Snape stared at Dumbledore for a long time. Then he leaned forward. "There has to be a way. If we could get the souls out and separate them—"

"The damage to Harry's soul would be irreparable, and there would be no way to put it back."

"A Dementor could—"

"A soul extracted by a Dementor is lost."

"You can't know—"

"I didn't ask you here to argue."

Snape leapt to his feet. "You're asking me to tell Potter he has to die!"

Dumbledore did not move, but his good hand curled into a tight fist. "I'm asking you to give him all of the information when he's ready to make the decision for himself. And, if he does decide in that respect, I trust you'll provide him with the means."

Snape pointed a finger at Dumbledore. "You're mad. There has to be a way. I'll find it."

"I know you'll try," Dumbledore said calmly. "I don't expect anything less. You may go. You'll receive an owl from me in the morning that will make my wishes clear."

Snape glared for several moments longer before turning on his heel and storming out of the office.

Harry expected the memory to end there. He was surprised when Dumbledore pulled open the top drawer of his desk and drew out a dark tinted vial. He set it on the desk, folded his hands again, and looked up. "Hello, Harry."

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. "Professor?" It did not seem possible, but Dumbledore was looking right at him.

"I didn't want it to go this way, Harry," Dumbledore continued. "I hope you understand by now why I had to do it.

"If you're watching this now, either Severus has told you or you've discovered the truth yourself. I never meant to deceive you. I only wanted to be sure that, when you did find out, you would not make a rash decision. I don't know how long it's been for you. I know other lives will have been lost, and for that, I truly am sorry."

Dumbledore stood, wincing as he flexed the fingers of his injured hand. "I want you to give this a lot of thought, Harry. Take some time. If you decide to do it, make sure you set your affairs in order and say your goodbyes. Be careful who you tell. There are some who would try to stop you. If need be, Severus will help you with the final stages." He stared directly into Harry's eyes. "I know you'll do the right thing." He picked up his wand and touched it to his temple.

As he extracted the silver strand of memory, fog drifted in. Harry had to squint harder and harder to see until finally Dumbledore disappeared from view. Still, it was a long time before Harry withdrew from the Pensieve.

Hermione stood from her chair by the fireplace. "Well?"

Harry did not answer. He could not even bring himself to look at her.

She touched his arm. "We'll find a way to get it out."

"Yeah," he muttered. He felt a wave of nausea and wavered on the spot. For a split second, he was standing on the edge of a canyon. The snake's hiss met his ears, and he imagined he could feel it shifting deep in his head.

"Harry?"

He blinked. "I need some time." He started for the door.

Hermione did not try to stop him.

-

"Potter!" Madam Pomfrey scolded. "If you're not working, you're in the way."

Harry blinked and moved to help Mrs. Weasley, who was attempting to change Percy's bandages by herself. Ron and Ginny were just sitting by Bill's bed, but Madam Pomfrey said nothing to them. Ginny's leg was heavily wrapped in bandages now, but otherwise, she was physically fine.

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Weasley said in a shaky voice, carefully lowering Percy's head back on the pillow. When he stirred slightly, she bit her lip. "I keep thinking he's going to wake up one of these times."

"He will." Harry was hardly aware of the words until they were already out. Nevertheless, Mrs. Weasley seemed to appreciate it.

The door opened and Neville stepped in, followed by, to everyone's surprise including Harry's, Hermione.

Mrs. Weasley was across the room in an instant, wrapping her in a tight hug. "Minerva said you left."

"I came back," Hermione said, hugging her back. "Neville told me about Charlie. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, dear." Mrs. Weasley released Hermione and moved back to Percy's side, brushing the hair from his forehead. "Fred and George are resting a few classrooms down if you want to see them."

"No, that's okay." As though to avoid further questions, Hermione grabbed a roll of bandages and made a beeline for Madam Pomfrey to ask for an assignment. Ron got up soon after and followed her.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked Harry. "You seem a little off."

Harry blinked. He had not realized that he was staring at Mrs. Weasley. "I'm fine. I just need to get some air." He retreated from the hospital wing. He only made it around one corner before he had to stop. He doubled over, breathing heavily. How was he supposed to do this? How could he even begin to set things in order? To say goodbye?

He felt a jolt through his brain and a new realization washed over him. He was running out of time. He could feel the barriers in his mind deteriorating. It would not be long before he was painfully incapacitated.

Unless he could buy himself some more time.

He pushed off from the wall and started down the corridor with a purpose. He had no fear of running into anyone. He knew now that only Kingsley and Davidson were patrolling the school, and the chances of crossing paths with them were minimal. Besides, he was not doing anything wrong yet.

Just as Harry had suspected, he reached the boys' dormitory without seeing anyone. He found that Ron had left the Invisibility Cloak just where he had found it: under Harry's pillow. Harry retrieved it and drew it over himself. Then he started back down the stairs.

About half an hour into trying to sneak into the hospital wing, Harry thought he might have had better luck if he had gone without the cloak. Finally, as Ron and Hermione stepped out the door, he was able to slip past them.

Getting his hands on the _Desdolor_ was easy enough. With a number of patients still near death and in constant pain, Madam Pomfrey had taken to keeping a few vials of it within reach. After making certain everyone else was busy, Harry filched one, slipping it into his pocket. It took another fifteen minutes to get out, but finally Neville left and Harry was able to prop the door open with his foot briefly and slip through.

He had just rounded the corner and was about to take the cloak off when he heard voices nearby. He followed them to their source and found himself outside a classroom door. He quickly identified the voices as Ron and Hermione's. He knew he probably should not listen, but when he realized they were talking about him, he moved closer to the door.

"He was out for over two days," Ron said. There was a continuous series of footsteps, as though someone was pacing. "He wouldn't let us take him to Madam Pomfrey."

"We just have to give him some time," Hermione said. "He's going through a lot right now."

"What? What is he going through? Tell me!"

"Ron, please stop—"

"Why did you leave? Did Harry do something?"

"God, no! Ron, I told you why."

"That's not a reason!"

Harry stumbled backwards, clutching his chest. He could not breath. The snake in his head was beating its tail against the sides of his skull, hissing in his ears. He reached shaking fingers into his pocket and drew out the potion vial. After one last hesitation, he lifted it to his lips and took a sip of the bitter liquid.

The thrashing stopped. His breathing evened. The hissing grew quieter and quieter until finally he could not hear it anymore. More importantly, his mind cleared and he was finally able to think.

He set off down the hall again with a clear head and a purpose. He could not say goodbye. He knew that now. They would know something was wrong. He would have to set up something else. Besides, it was not time for that yet. First, he had to find out just how much time he had.

Unfortunately, that meant talking to Hermione again.

Harry did not get his chance until after dinner that night. Work in the hospital wing had been adjusted to a voluntary basis, so he was able to time his break to match with hers. Since Neville also joined them, he had to wait until after they ate and corner her in the corridor. "I need to talk to Snape," he said in an undertone.

Hermione looked around to make sure they were alone. "Okay," she said, seeming a little uncomfortable. "Come on."

They went back to the common room. Hermione threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace from a pouch in her pocket and stuck her head in. Moments later, she drew back and nodded. "Go on."

Harry stepped through, trying to stay calm this time as he fell past fireplace after fireplace. He stepped out into the messy living room, where Aberforth sat in the midst of the sea of books and papers.

He stood the moment Harry stepped in. "Miss Granger said you wanted to talk to Severus." When Harry nodded, Aberforth went to the door on the right, pushing it open. After a few muttered words, he waved Harry forward.

A cauldron was still set up in the center of the room, but it was empty this time. Orbs of light floated near the ceiling, illuminating Snape, who sat on his makeshift bed on the floor with a book propped open in front of him. "Make this quick, Potter," he said without looking up. "I have work to do."

"Dumbledore told you," Harry said at once. He still could not quite believe it. "He told you, and he didn't tell me."

"Oh, it's that, is it?" Snape closed his book. "Granger finally broke down and told you then?"

"I figured it out myself."

"Did you now? I never thought I'd say this, but I may have underestimated you."

"Good," Harry said with an edge to his voice, "then maybe you can talk to me like an equal."

Snape studied him for a moment. "Very well."

"Dumbledore told you to tell me when I was ready," Harry said. "When were you planning to do that?"

Snape paused for several moments. Then he stood. "Unlike Dumbledore, I don't care one way or the other about your ability to make a decision. The fact of the matter is people inexplicably think you're a savior. If you die before the Dark Lord, people will stop fighting, and we'll lose the war."

Harry blinked. He had not expected that. "So that's why you've been trying to find a way to extract the soul."

"The soul extraction is easy enough. The trick is to separate them and put yours back."

"Because they're fused together," Harry muttered. He could feel Snape's eyes boring into him, so he spoke again. "I saw them."

"You've done mental projection." Snape looked impressed in spite of himself.

"They looked like a two-headed snake."

"You projected them as such."

"But I can't separate them?"

"Not without damaging yourself."

"Dumbledore was right then," Harry said, leaning against the wall. "There isn't a way."

Snape fixed him with a critical gaze. "I've found plenty of ways to extract the souls. I may have found a solution by now, but unfortunately, I've had a few setbacks. Not everyone has been fully cooperative."

The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end. "What do you mean?"

"Relax, Potter. I didn't extract anyone's soul. I'm referring to someone who went behind my back."

Harry furrowed his brow. That could only mean one thing. "You brought someone else into this?"

"Did you not wonder why Theodore Nott tried to kill you?" Snape asked.

Harry's breath caught in his chest. "Nott? I thought he went mad?"

"No doubt the Dark Lord wanted you to believe that. No, Nott was quite sane when he cast that spell. He was a bright student, and I knew he had no love for the Dark Lord. I thought if I kept certain details from him, he might offer a fresh perspective. Unfortunately, he was a little too clever for his own good. I imagine when he saw that you would be testifying at the Carrows' trial, he decided to take matters into his own hands."

Harry just stood silently, allowing the full weight of this to hit him. He had assumed that Nott was just trying to get into Voldemort's good graces by killing him. Now that he thought about it, this made more sense. It explained why Voldemort was so quick to get Nott out of the way and why he had kept him around for so long, even after he was no longer coherent. As Harry thought about it, he became certain that the spell which had knocked him to the ground just in time at the trial had been cast by Voldemort, desperate to save the soul fragment locked away in Harry's mind.

"Potter?"

Harry wanted to ask more questions about Nott's involvement, but they all fell short. He did not have time. Besides, it was not his business. "I'll have to get to Nagini first," he said finally.

"Have you seen into the Dark Lord's mind recently?" Snape asked.

Harry blinked. "Yeah, a few nights ago."

"Did you see where you were?"

Harry shook his head. "It's always the same place, just a dark room with a chair and a fireplace." He concentrated harder. "I think there's a dungeon, too. It's the same place he was keeping Mr. Weasley. Why?"

Snape moved to the corner. He knocked once on the floor and pried up a loose floorboard. "The Dark Lord moves around often, but he has a few places he prefers." He pulled out a large scroll. He drew his wand and levitated the cauldron down to the floor so he could unfurl the parchment over the table, revealing a detailed floor plan of a four-story mansion.

"The Giles Manor," Snape said. "Formerly St. Giles' Home for the Critically Insane. The Dark Lord has a penchant for former institutions."

"Where is it?"

"It doesn't matter. All you need to know is that this..." He pointed to a room on the top floor. "...is the room you saw."

Harry stared at the spot. "But how will I get to Nagini?"

"I'll take care of the snake," Snape said.

"How?"

"He always sends her down to report on prisoners. I'll let him capture me."

"What? You can't—"

"Leave your conscience out, Potter. It won't do you any good. I'll kill the snake." Snape drew two thin, crystal rods from his pocket. "Do you know what these are?"

"Yes," Harry said, "but—"

Snape placed one in his hand. "I'll snap mine when the job is finished. That's when you'll make your move."

"And what will that be?"

Snape stared at him for a long time. "You need to be absolutely sure about this, Potter. You'll only have one shot."

"I'm sure."

"All right." Snape waved his wand to dim the lights. Then he went back to the hole in the floor and drew out a small vial, which he set on the table with a solid thunk. "Now, listen very carefully. I don't want to repeat myself."

-

Harry stepped out of the room, feeling slightly shaken, but he managed to stay on his feet.

"Leaving then?" Aberforth asked, standing up.

Harry barely heard him. His eyes focused on the other door, the one that had so disturbed him the previous time he had been inside the shack. "What's in there?" he asked.

Aberforth hesitated, following his gaze. "Severus told you everything?"

Harry nodded.

Aberforth went to the door and pushed it open. The movement caused a disruption within and the three cloaked figures inside rushed forward. They stopped a few feet from the door, as though blocked by an invisible wall, their gray, decrepit hands twitching.

"The Dementors," Harry said. "They weren't a trap for the Aurors. He was studying them."

"Yes," Aberforth said. When Harry stepped forward, he put out an arm to stop him. "Don't get too close. The wards weaken their powers, but they're still dangerous."

Harry stared at them for a few more moments before turning away. Aberforth threw a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, and Harry stepped inside, letting the flames whisk him back to the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione stopped in the midst of her pacing when he stepped through. "Well?" she said.

Harry started for the stairs without reply.

She grabbed his arm to stop him. "You can't seriously be considering—"

"What choice do I have?" he demanded. He knew the sudden swell of emotion inside him was a bad sign.

"There's always a choice! You just have to give us more—what's wrong?"

Harry had stumbled against the wall. His eyes fluttered shut, and he found himself balanced on the edge of the canyon, scrambling to keep his feet on solid ground. Knowing that the pain would soon follow, he dragged himself back to the present and reached into his pocket. He drew out the _Desdolor_ vial and took a sip.

"Harry!" Hermione gaped at him. "You can't do this! You're not thinking clearly!"

"It's already done. Snape's going to kill Nagini. As soon as he's finished, I'm leaving." He turned for the stairs again.

"What about Malfoy?"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. He did not know what he had expected Hermione to ask, but that certainly was not it. "Dobby will look after him," he said after a moment. "Wait a few days after you hear about me. Then do what you have to." He walked away before she could reply.

Neville was still the only one in the dormitory, his snores filling the empty room. Harry went to his own bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. The hours crept by slower than ever, yet it was still too fast. Every time he felt himself start to slip toward the canyon edge, he took a sip of _Desdolor_ and turned over, but it was no use. He would not be sleeping that night.

-

His first stop the next morning was the library. Madam Pince was nowhere in sight. He knew that she was volunteering her time in the hospital wing all day. Nevertheless, once he had the two books he needed, he did not stick around. He tucked them under his arm, drew the Invisibility Cloak over himself, and headed back for the dormitory.

Hermione had packed the Pensieve away, so he had to draw the cabinet back out. He then opened his first book, _Pensieve Memories_, scanning the index.

It was hours before Harry felt confident enough to set his wand to his temple. It took a number of tries to finally get a silver strand of memory to cling to the end of the wand and several more until he could define the ending of each memory well. Finally, after his third success at drawing out a memory of a Quidditch game, he was ready.

Except he needed an empty vial. As he turned this over in his mind, he had an idea. "Draco Abraxas Malfoy," he said to the cabinet. The wooden box appeared on the bottom shelf. He opened it and drew out the single vial. He peeled the label off and checked the book again. Then he carefully dumped the memory strand out on the floor. He paused for one moment before pointing his wand at it. Three sharp bolts of light shot from the tip, slicing the memory into four pieces. The strands twisted and writhed for several moments before finally shriveling into nothing.

Harry set the empty vial on the table and crossed to the dormitory door to lock it. He knew it would not keep out anyone who tried to get in, but it would at least give him advance warning. Then he turned back, made a quick estimation of where he should look, and began to speak.

-

Ron was helping hold down Anya for her bandage changes when Harry returned. Harry grabbed her arm to stop her scratching Professor McGonagall, mostly to keep Madam Pomfrey appeased that he was actually working. "I need to talk to you," he said in an undertone to Ron once Anya was properly strapped down again.

They went to the same classroom that Ron and Hermione had spoken in the previous day. "What is it?" Ron asked.

_So, Hermione had not told him_. "I'm leaving soon," Harry said.

"Leaving?" Ron repeated the word as though it made no sense to him. "To go where?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Is it about the Horcruxes? I'll go with you."

"I have to go alone." In spite of taking a dose of _Desdolor_ only half an hour before, Harry felt his throat clench. "I'm only telling you because if I don't come back—"

"Why wouldn't you come back?" Ron demanded, his voice cracking slightly.

"_If_ I don't come back," Harry said, "I need you to do something for me."

Ron shook his head. "This is ridiculous." He started for the door.

Harry caught his arm. "Please, Ron. I need to know I can trust you."

Ron just looked back at him for a long time. "Do you even have to ask?" he said finally.

Harry relaxed a bit. "I don't know when I'll be leaving." He drew a dark vial with a silver memory curled in the bottom from his pocket, pressing it into Ron's hand, "After I'm gone, I need you to watch this. It'll explain everything."

"I don't understand."

"I'm not asking you to understand. I'm just asking you to trust me."

Ron stared at the vial. "This is it, isn't it? You're going to face him."

Harry nodded.

Ron blinked once. Then he put the vial in his pocket and walked out.

Harry followed a few moments later.

-

Aura always left the door to Lupin's room on the second floor ajar. One might think she was trying to encourage visitors, but Harry knew she was actually trying to encourage Tonks to leave the room more often. It did not work for either purpose, however. Everyone else in the school was too busy in the hospital wing to visit, and Tonks was still in too much of a daze to leave Lupin's side.

Harry arrived after dinner and stood outside the door, peeking inside. Finally, after a few hours, Aura gripped Tonks' shoulder and told her she was going to bed. Harry waited until she left to slip inside the room. Then he had another wait as Tonks sat by the bed and stared at Lupin with blank eyes.

It was well past midnight before Tonks finally nodded off. Harry watched her for a few more moments to make sure she was asleep before pulling the door shut with a soft click. He tiptoed to the bed and set the book he had tucked under his arm on the table. He sat on the bed beside Lupin, careful not to make any noise.

Harry lightly touched either side of Lupin's head and peeled his eyelids open. The eyes were listless, but, to Harry's surprise, they stayed open. He leaned forward slightly and stared into them, allowing his mind to clear.

The drop down the tunnel was sudden and violent. He tumbled for what seemed miles through darkness before a flash of light filled his vision. He braced himself for impact, but he slowed at the last moment and touched down lightly. He blinked and stared around at the bright white room.

A hand touched his arm. "Harry?"

Harry turned and saw Lupin standing behind him. He looked better than Harry had ever seen him. His wounds were gone, and he looked younger, the age lines on his face softened. Even his robes were not as shabby as they had always been in the past.

"How did you get here?" Lupin asked.

"Mental projection," Harry said.

"Oh." Lupin looked surprised and impressed.

"I'm sorry I haven't been visiting. Although I guess you wouldn't really know."

"I get flashes. Sometimes I even hear things." Lupin looked toward the ceiling with a touch of sadness. "I wish Dora would talk more."

"She misses you." Harry paused. It felt wrong to change the subject so abruptly, but he did not know how much time he had left. So, he took a deep breath. "I came to say goodbye."

Lupin blinked at him. "What?"

Harry told him everything. He started from the moment Lupin had been attacked and just started talking. He recited things that he did not even realize he remembered in such great detail. Just as before, it became easier and easier to open up as time passed. He hesitated slightly when it came to Malfoy, but he was soon talking about that as well. He glossed over the physical portions, but when he came to the night he found out about Flint, he could not stop himself from giving every detail. Lupin remained a quiet listener up until the very end of Harry's tale, his face impassive.

"So, you'll be leaving soon?" Lupin said after the silence had stretched for a while.

Harry nodded. "As soon as Snape contacts me."

"And you've said your goodbyes?"

"Ron doesn't know why yet, but he and Hermione both know I'm leaving. I couldn't risk telling anyone else."

"What about Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry hesitated for a long time. "I hadn't thought about it."

Lupin gripped his shoulder. "I know you feel sorry for him. I wouldn't expect anything less. But no matter what happened to him in the past, it does not excuse what he did."

"I know."

Lupin grabbed his other shoulder. "That's not enough, Harry. You need to say it."

Harry met Lupin's gaze. "It doesn't excuse him. I know that."

Lupin released him. "I won't tell you what to do. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," Harry said. He opened his mouth to speak again but was soon stunned into silence when Lupin wrapped him in a tight hug. By the time Lupin released him, he had lost the words he was going to say.

"You should go," Lupin said. "I don't know how long it's been."

Harry nodded mutely, glancing upwards. It struck him that he did not know how to get out, but the thought only lasted a moment before he felt himself lift off the floor. The light slowly dimmed to blackness.

Harry jolted back into his body. He breathed in sharply, his hands falling to his sides. The sun was just starting to rise outside the window. He glanced around, but Tonks was still fast asleep.

When he stood, he caught sight of the book he had left on the table. The words he had wanted to say to Lupin came back to him in a rush. Perhaps it was better not to tell him, just in case Harry's plan did not work. After all, there was no sense in getting two people's hopes up.

Harry picked up the book and placed it on the other side of the bed by Lupin's hand, the title face up so Tonks would see it when she woke: _Mental Projection: From Novice to Master_.

-

Harry spent the rest of the day working. When Madam Pomfrey had more workers in the hospital wing than she needed, he went down to the dungeons to help Slughorn again. The latter was a better arrangement. It was much easier to wait until Slughorn's back was turned to take his _Desdolor_ than to sneak away from the hospital wing every time he felt a twinge.

That evening, however, Harry was forced to leave early when his vision started to blur from the fumes. Since the potion inhibited his ability to feel lightheadedness, he could not take the chance that he would pass out. He left the dungeons and trudged back up the stairs. He avoided the corridor outside the hospital wing, so he met no one.

His walk brought him to the Room of Requirement. He stood outside for a long time, staring at the door. In spite of what Lupin said, he had avoided thinking about Malfoy all day.

He knew he should have just walked away. He had done what Dumbledore said. He had set his affairs in order and come as close to saying goodbyes as he could without raising suspicions. Even Malfoy's fate was set.

Harry felt a dull rumble under his feet and knew at once where his hesitation came from. He reached into his pocket and took out the vial of _Desdolor_, but he only stared at it. If he took a sip right now, he would be able to walk away without feeling an ounce of guilt or remorse. It was tempting.

But there was something Harry wanted more. He did not know what it was exactly, but he knew that taking the potion would prevent him from having it.

Malfoy was standing against the wall in the corner, staring out over the room with a blank expression. As Harry closed the door, he noticed that Malfoy's dinner sat on the desk untouched. "Have you eaten anything today?" he asked.

Malfoy did not answer.

"I'm sorry about Nott." Harry had not meant to say it. He wanted so badly to get a reaction—any reaction—the words just came out.

It worked. Malfoy pushed off from the wall and started off along the edge of the room with no clear destination. "How many times do I have to tell you, Potter?" he growled. "I don't want your pity."

"I know." Harry took a few steps forward and caught Malfoy's arm. He gestured toward the bed. "Sit."

Malfoy glared at him, but moved over to the bed and sat on the edge. When Harry brought him the plate and a glass of water, he ate mechanically, his eyes focused on the floor.

Harry stood to the side, silently fighting his own battle. Though his feet were on solid ground, he could feel himself starting to slip down the slope of the canyon. Nausea was building in the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it from his mind.

Malfoy only ate half the food before setting the plate aside and clasping the empty glass in his hands, looking vaguely ill. Harry retrieved the dishes, set them back on the desk, and sat down next to Malfoy.

"What do you want?" Malfoy asked in a low voice.

It was Harry's turn not to answer. Instead, he touched a hand to the side of Malfoy's face, making him turn. They're eyes locked, and Harry leaned in, lightly brushed his lips against Malfoy's. Moments later, he felt Malfoy kissing him back.

Harry took his time, focusing on every sensation. He traced his way down Malfoy's skin and discovered that scraping his teeth over the crook of his neck sent a shudder through his entire body. Harry found that it gave him a thrill, too, as though it had been done to him. The collar of Malfoy's shirt was getting in his way, so Harry reached for the hem, slowly drawing it up.

To his surprise, Malfoy drew back, pushing him away. "You're doing this because you feel sorry for me."

"No," Harry said, "I'm not."

"You're lying."

Harry caught Malfoy's chin, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. "Am I lying?" Harry wanted to know the answer; he was not sure himself.

Malfoy blinked. Then he leaned forward without a word, his lips closing over Harry's again.

Harry felt his shirt riding up and lifted his arms to allow Malfoy to pull it over his head. Malfoy moved up on the bed. Harry took the hint and shifted until he was straddling Malfoy.

Harry closed his eyes briefly. The world jolted, a loud hiss filling his ears.

"What—?"

Harry leaned forward to cut Malfoy off. He focused again on the feelings. The slick sweat against his fingers as he trailed them over Malfoy's chest, down his stomach. The cold metal of the belt buckle as he unhooked it. The salty taste of skin as he traced a line down from Malfoy's navel.

When Malfoy began to fidget, Harry lifted his head and gripped Malfoy's trousers, pulling them down the rest of the way. He grabbed Malfoy's left leg and gently pushed it toward his other side. Malfoy saw what he was trying to do and flipped over so he lay on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows.

Harry drew his wand and started to undo his own trousers. "What's the spell?" he asked.

Malfoy took a while to reply, as though trying to process the question. "It's tricky," he said finally. He pushed himself up onto his knees and twisted around, holding his hand out.

Harry hesitated for a split second. Then he handed the wand over.

Malfoy took it and waved it. Harry felt the warm liquid drip over his skin and he groaned involuntarily, standing to let his trousers fall to the floor.

Meanwhile, Malfoy tossed the wand away and lay down again. Harry moved onto the bed and planted his hands on either side of Malfoy.

The ground shifted so violently he nearly lost his balance and the hiss increased to an almost deafening volume. He was slipping. He needed to take the _Desdolor_. It was the only thing that could help him keep his precarious balance.

He scrambled up the slope, planting his feet firmly on the narrow edge, and gripped the sheets tightly in his hands. He could hold out a little while longer. He had to, because he finally knew why he had not taken the potion.

He wanted to feel one last time.

He slid inside Malfoy, and the pounding of blood in his ears drowned out the hissing. He thrust forward once. Twice. His hands slipped and he was on his elbows, his body pressing against Malfoy's. He thrust again and felt Malfoy's breath hitch, a strangled moan escaping his throat.

Moments later, Malfoy's body went rigid and he let out a full groan. The sound pushed Harry over the edge and he felt a spasm of pleasure. He gasped and pulled back. His head swam and his limbs felt heavy. All he managed to do was roll over on his back, letting his eyes close. He expected to find himself back on the edge of the canyon, but there was nothing. He saw only darkness, felt only the soreness of his muscles and the blood rushing through his veins.

He felt Malfoy's hand on his shoulder. "Who died?"

Harry took a deep, shaky breath and spoke in a whisper. "Nobody died."

"But there is something."

Harry did not reply. After several moments, he heard Malfoy's breathing slow.

Harry knew his peace would not last forever. He considered getting up to retrieve the potion from his trouser pocket, but it seemed so far away and he was so exhausted.

-

Harry slept. He had no dreams, no visions. He had some trouble breathing when he woke up, but he soon discovered it was just from Malfoy's arm draped over his chest. He carefully moved out from under Malfoy and got up.

The ground shuddered and he nearly lost his balance. He knelt by the bed and grabbed his trousers, fumbling for the vial of _Desdolor._ He lifted it to his lips and swallowed the bitter liquid.

Only as the potion took hold did he hear the muffled humming. He reached into the same pocket and drew out the crystal rod, which was glowing blue now.

He heard a creak behind him. "What's that?" Malfoy asked.

"Nothing," Harry snapped the rod between his fingers to stop the humming. The pieces burned black. He stood, letting them fall to the floor.

Malfoy sat up in bed, watching him. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

Harry pulled on his trousers and stooped for his shirt. "Can't expect me to stay here all day."

"You know what I mean."

Harry wavered. "Yeah," he said finally. He checked his pocket to make sure the _Desdolor_ was still there. He was about to leave, but he glanced back at Malfoy one last time and stopped.

He went back. He sat down on the edge of the bed and touched a hand to Malfoy's cheek. He leaned forward and kissed him softly. He felt nothing, of course. The potion had already begun to take effect, numbing his physical response. That did not stop him.

Malfoy was the one who drew back first. "You're not coming back."

It was not a question, so Harry did not answer. He knew he should have said something, but nothing seemed appropriate. A part of him wanted to say "thank you," but he was not sure what he had to thank Malfoy for. He thought maybe he should apologize, but then he asked himself what he had to apologize for. True, he had done horrible things to Malfoy, but nothing worse than what Malfoy had done to him.

Indeed, Harry found that in that moment, he felt very little emotion toward Malfoy at all, not even resentment. He wondered briefly if it was just an effect of the _Desdolor_, but he soon decided that it did not matter. He had a job to do. What he felt—if he felt anything at all—was irrelevant.

So he stood and walked away without saying a word.

-

Harry stared down at the note, reading the words back to himself. They sounded cliché and stupid. He wanted to crumble up the parchment and throw it away, but he could not think of anything better to write. Besides, as he continued to remind himself, it did not really matter.

Sighing, he signed his name to the note and wrapped it in the folds of his Invisibility Cloak, stuffing it deep in his book bag along with a small bag of money. He tied a pouch with a few Galleons and Sickles to his belt. Then he put the rest of his money in his trunk, shut it, and set the bag next to it. He grabbed a small pouch Snape had given him, tucking it into a pocket hidden along the inside hem of his shirt. The pocket was enchanted so no one but him could see it and it made no discernible bulge in his shirt. He slipped his wand into an invisible holster on the leg of his jeans and tucked a trick one he had picked up a year earlier from Fred and George's shop in his pocket. He took a sip of the _Desdolor _and stored it in the inside pocket with the pouch. Finally, he pulled on a heavy black cloak and picked up his broomstick.He was ready.

Hermione was fast asleep in one of the chairs. He tried to tiptoe past her, but she stirred. "Harry?"

"Don't try to stop me," he said shortly.

He felt a hand on his arm and turned to argue, but Hermione just wrapped him in a tight hug. "I don't even know what to say," she said, her voice cracking. "I'm sorry."

After a few moments, Harry lifted his arms to hug her back. "You did everything you could." He heard a sniffle and felt a slight clench in his chest. "Please don't cry."

She gave him a sad smile and wiped her glistening eyes. "I can't help it." She placed a hand on either side of his face and stood on her toes to kiss his forehead. When she drew back, she did not release him right away. "Do you need me to do anything? I can pass a message to Ginny if you want."

Harry shook his head. "It's already taken care of."

They said their goodbyes, Hermione still in tears. Harry took a handful of Floo Powder, threw it in the fireplace, and stepped forward. He did what Snape had told him to do, concentrating on his destination instead of saying it out loud. He did not think Hermione would try to follow, but he could not take any chances.

Harry stepped out of a fireplace into a small sitting room with a partially collapsed roof. Though he knew it would be empty, he still glanced around to make sure he was alone. Gathering his courage, he went to the door and stepped out into the warm, humid morning air.

The rundown house was set on an equally decrepit street lined with empty, crumbling houses. Harry swung a leg over his broom and kicked off, relishing the feeling of air rushing through his hair. He soared a hundred feet into the air and shielded his eyes against the bright sunlight, peering around. Finally, he caught sight of his destination and took off.

Only fifteen minutes later, Harry descended, landing in a dark alley. He carefully set the broom on top of a dumpster, spreading some stray papers and boxes over the top to hide it from view. Then he pulled his hood up, took a deep breath, and walked out into Diagon Alley.

The street was nearly deserted. He saw one small group of cloaked people, but they rushed past him quickly, disappearing into a nearby robe shop. Harry looked around to make sure no one was watching and set a fast pace for the Apothecary.

_Don't go to Knockturn Alley,_ Snape's voice echoed in his mind. _He'll know you're trying to get caught. He'll have someone watching for me at the Apothecary_.

Harry stepped in the door, taking a quick glance around the room. Besides the old shopkeeper, there was no one inside.

"Can I help you with something, sir?" the shopkeeper asked, a boney hand resting on her hip.

"I need two scoops of black beetle eyes and three ounces of lacewing flies," Harry said, moving cautiously to the counter.

She fixed him with a stare, as though she had seen him before but could not quite remember where. Then she went to the shelf and measured out his lacewing flies into a jar. She set these on the counter and moved to a barrel filled to the brim with shimmering beetle eyes.

Harry tapped his fingers on the counter, nervously glancing over his shoulder at the door. When the woman returned and wrapped his purchases up, he pulled a Galleon from his money pouch. "Keep the change." He tucked the package into the pocket of his cloak, adjusted his hood, and hurried back outside.

The street was still empty. He could see the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron on his left and studied it for a moment. Someone might be watching him from inside and he would never know. He shivered and shook his head, turning away.

He made it only a few steps when he felt something hit him, like a light punch to the back. He fell, blacking out before he even hit the ground.

-

Harry was in agony. His head was pounded with every heartbeat. Yet, he barely felt it. He was more concerned by what he saw the moment he opened his eyes.

He was in a cell, surrounded on three sides by solid stone, a set of iron bars on the fourth, but that was not what made his heart leap into his throat. Rather, it was the gaping pit that swallowed up most of the floor, forcing him to the very edge of the cell. As he stared down into it, he heard a hiss from the darkness below.

He thought he must be dreaming. He glanced around, trying to find anything that would confirm his suspicions. He tried to will himself awake. It did not work.

The floor shook and he felt himself slide forward. Panicking, he did the only thing he could think of. He reached into the inner pocket of his shirt and drew out the _Desdolor_, draining the last few drops.

The rumbling stopped, and a solid stone floor materialized back over the hole.

Harry heard heavy breathing and glanced up. A crumpled figure in the next cell was stirring. Snape glanced up, blood dripping down his face from a deep cut on his forehead. He gave Harry a slight nod and settled his head back down, groaning.

Harry checked his trouser pocket. The fake wand was gone, as he had suspected. He patted down his leg to make sure his real wand was still in its holster. He had also been stripped of his cloak, the money pouch, and the potion ingredients.

Harry heard footsteps and threw himself into the corner, drawing his knees up to his chest. Rookwood appeared in front of the cell. He glanced at Snape, then Harry with blank eyes before continuing on.

Harry waited as the footsteps faded again. He thought for a moment that Snape had passed out, but Snape finally shifted again. He patted his side and his leg.

_I'll ask if you still have everything_.

Harry nodded.

Snape reached a trembling hand into the folds of his robes and drew out a crystal rod. With some effort, he snapped it.

_He only has two to three guards at a time. I'll signal Aberforth to set off a distraction outside. That will clear your path._

Harry was certain the humming would send someone running, but the narrow corridor remained empty. He waited a few minutes to be sure, then drew his wand, performing a complicated set of movements Snape had showed him. The lock sprang open. He tucked the wand back away.

Harry glanced back at Snape briefly. It did not seem right to leave him behind, especially bleeding the way he was. Snape only glared back.

_Don't let your conscience slow you down. Your window won't last forever._

Harry tore his eyes away and set off down the hall. He felt exposed without his Invisibility Cloak, but it was too late to regret not bringing it. He ascended a flight of stairs and pushed open a door in the ceiling an inch, peering out. The room was empty, so he climbed out the trapdoor into the dimly lit entrance hall. He was itching to draw his wand again, but it was not time yet. He took off swiftly up the stairs.

On the first floor, a scene outside the window made him stop. On the grounds below, Aberforth was facing off against Rookwood and Bellatrix. They were closing in on him from either side. Harry wavered.

_Don't let your conscience slow you down._

Harry knew he was running out of time. He set off again, taking the stairs two at a time. He reached the top floor and counted the doors. Five down on the right. He pressed his ear against the door. He heard nothing. He drew his wand, took a deep breath, and tried the doorknob. It turned easily, and the door creaked open.

Voldemort was on his feet in an instant, wand clutched in his thin, white fingers. "I knew you'd play the fool, Potter," he said. "Drop the wand and I'll let you live."

Harry took a few steps into the room, keeping his wand trained on Voldemort. "There are worse things than dying."

"Someone else said those words to me once. Tell me, Harry, where is he now?"

_He'll try to lull you into conversation. Don't let him. Concentrate on the spell._

Harry focused, trying to ignore the hiss that was growing in his skull. The _Desdolor_ should not have worn off yet. He should have still had time. He tried to ignore it and waved his wand thinking the word as clearly as he could.

_Sectumsempra!_

Nothing happened.

"Give me the wand, Harry. I'll let you go."

_Concentrate._

_Sectumsempra!_

Voldemort let out an unearthly screech and crumbled to the floor, clutching his face. Blood poured out between his fingers, dripping down his already ghastly skin. Another slash had ripped open his chest, spilling more crimson droplets on the floor. In spite of the wounds, however, Voldemort took a number of deep breaths and looked up at Harry, chuckling. "Snape may have killed Nagini," he said between gasps, "but I still have a trick up my sleeve."

Even the _Desdolor_ was not strong enough anymore. Harry was teetering on the edge of the canyon. He could feel the snake thrashing in the depths of his brain, fighting to get out. He used the last of his coherence to fumble in his inside pocket. His fingers closed over the pouch Snape had given him and he drew it out.

_The potion needs to be exposed to light for just a few moments. Any more than that, and it will fail._

Voldemort lunged at him. Harry stumbled backwards several steps, pulling a small vial out of the pouch. He moved out of Voldemort's reach again to give the potion time in the light. He uncorked it.

_It'll be painless_.

Harry did not care. He was not even in the room anymore. He was not on the edge of the canyon either. He was sitting cross-legged in front of a chessboard across from Malfoy, staring down. His king was backed into a corner. Malfoy was a moment away from winning.

Then he saw it.

A smirk played on Harry's lips. He had seen this before. The knight sacrifices itself, leaving a clear path to victory.

Harry blinked, and he was standing in front of Voldemort, who was using what remained of his strength to crawl forward. "Checkmate," Harry muttered. He put the vial to his lips and threw his head back, downing every last drop of the icy liquid. It made its way slowly down his throat, numbing everything in its path.

The hiss in Harry's brain increased to deafening proportions. The snake slammed against the inside of his skull so hard Harry was sure he felt it crack. His legs gave out. He tried to scream, but his vocal cords had numbed long ago.

The icy wave hit his stomach.

A flash of white light filled his vision.

And he felt nothing.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. Epilogue: an article, a short note, and a memory. Harry's gone, but where does that leave everyone else? I'll tell you right now, don't go into the epilogue expecting a miracle. The epilogue is mostly just to clear up a few hanging plot threads. I would not be surprised if some readers decided to stop reading here. As a bit of incentive, however, I will be doing a question-and-answer session eventually that will be posted in my LJ. Full details will be in the author's note at the end of the epilogue.


	41. Epilogue: Making Amends

Author's Note: A thousand thanks to all reviewers. I really wasn't expecting so much positive feedback. I really appreciate it. I was pleased to see that a couple people had figured it out a few chapters ahead of time. It's good to know that I dropped enough hints. Anyway, this is it, folks. The epilogue. The format's a little different than previous chapters have been. As always, enjoy.

- - - - -

Epilogue: Making Amends

_Two days later_

"Ron?"

"Hmm?" Ron blinked, looking up from his breakfast.

"I just asked how many people you think will show for the funeral," Neville said.

"I dunno," Ron muttered, rubbing his eyes, "but I bet half who do show didn't even know him."

"Yeah. Well, my gran's coming in first thing in the morning. She thinks the Death Eaters might try something."

Ron heard a clatter. Hermione scrambled to pick up her fork with shaking fingers. Their eyes met for an instant before she cast her gaze at her plate again.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Listen, I'm going to go check on Mum. I'll see you later."

"Okay," Neville said.

Ron did not go to the hospital wing, however. Instead, he trudged up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. He could not handle seeing his mother right now. She had not stopped crying since Professor McGonagall told her that Harry's body had been found the previous day. Meanwhile, Ginny had locked herself in the sixth year girls' dormitory and refused to come out. Hermione showed up to meals, but she spent the rest of her time walking around the school listlessly, jumping every time someone spoke to her.

And Ron? He did not think he had truly reacted yet. He felt like he was in a fog. None of it seemed real. Harry could not be dead. It was just not possible.

He opened the dormitory door and froze when he saw the bag sitting next to Harry's trunk. He had seen it the previous morning and did not think anything of it, but now the full weight of its meaning hit him. Not only was Harry gone. He had _known_ he was going to die.

A tap on the window brought Ron jolting back to reality. A tawny owl perched outside the window, a newspaper tied to one leg and a small money pouch to the other.

Ron opened the window. "You're looking for Hermione, aren't you?" he muttered. He imagined the owl, unable to find its customer, had settled for the first person it saw.

The owl nipped at his fingers and held out its leg. Ron sighed, dug through his pockets for money, and took the newspaper. Once paid, the owl screeched and took off into the sky. Ron glanced over the front-page, half of which was taken up by an old picture of Harry. Ron guessed that it was a reprint of a picture run during the Triwizard Tournament. It was slightly unnerving to see the fourteen-year-old Harry smiling and waving at him, so he quickly turned his eyes to the article.

_The Death of the Boy Who Lived_

_Twenty-four hours after the body of prominent wizard Harry Potter was discovered in an upstairs room of an abandoned mansion, speculation continues over what occurred at the house. Though a time of death has yet to be established, statements obtained from local Muggle residents confirm a disturbance outside the mansion in the afternoon of August 26th. Ministry officials will not confirm whether the two events coincide._

_"No mark was found on Mr. Potter's body," lead investigator Kingsley Shacklebolt stated early this morning. "The cause of death has not been determined at the present time." __Shacklebolt has confirmed that blood found at the scene did not belong to Potter, but he would not speak further as to whose it may be._

_In the meantime, rumors are spreading that the mansion, formerly__ St. Giles' Home for the Critically Insane, may have been a hideout for a number of prominent Death Eaters, possibly including You-Know-Who himself. Though some have theorized that Potter may have defeated the notorious Dark Lord before his death, many remain skeptical._

_"Until a body is found, we cannot be too careful," Professor Minerva McGonagall, headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, stated in an interview. She has assured this reporter that Hogwarts will continue to employ a full guard in preparation for the arrival of students on September 1st._

_Harry Potter's funeral will be held on August 29th at Hogwarts school. Professor McGonagall would not reveal the location for his burial. Some have speculated that he would be buried on Hogwarts grounds in a similar fashion as former headmaster Albus Dumbledore, but leading sources now cite Godric's Hollow as a more likely location. If these rumors prove true, he will likely be interred near his parents: James and Lily Potter._

The article continued on another page. Ron threw the paper on the table without looking at the rest. He knew what it would say. The article would finish with a short summary of what happened to James and Lily Potter, followed by another statement, likely from the Minister for Magic. The other articles would include new reports of deaths with no names mentioned and a repeated list of Death Eaters still eluding capture. If they were lucky, there would be a capture or two, but it was always people that Ron had never heard of. Even Hermione had stopped reading the reports weeks earlier.

Ron turned his eyes back on the bag. Harry had a lot of nerve to ask so much of him. He had not even trusted Ron enough to tell him why he was leaving.

Guilt washed over Ron. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. What was done was done. Raging at Harry would not bring him back.

But there was a difference between forgiving him and carrying out his wishes. Could Ron go along with what Harry asked of him, even if he did not understand or agree with it?

_I'm not asking you to __understand. _Harry had said._ I'm just asking you to trust me._

Ron picked up the bag and slung it over one shoulder. It was very light. Of course he would go along with it. He had known that before Harry even asked. Which was why he had already made the arrangements. He went to the drawer beside his bed where he had put the ticket the previous night.

He had to do what Harry asked. His conscience would not allow him to do anything else.

-

Draco paced. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, bouncing his leg up and down, before springing to his feet and moving again. He tried standing by the window, but that did little to help his anxiety. He even tried playing a game of chess, but he could not make himself concentrate. Dobby had brought him breakfast, but he could not stand to eat more than a bite at a time. He had been this way for the past three days, since the morning Potter left.

Draco knew he should run. Potter was the only thing standing between him and the Ministry. He held no delusions that Granger or Weasley would help him. Only one thing kept him from leaving the moment Potter walked out the door.

He had nowhere to go.

Frustrated, Draco threw his fist at the wall. Rather than offer him relief, all this did was send pain radiating all the way up to his elbow. He swore, shaking his hand.

This was all Potter's fault. In fact, given enough time, Draco was certain he could find a way to blame everything that had gone wrong on Potter. Potter had done nothing but ruin his life since the day they met.

Draco sat down again, massaging his knuckles. Potter's fault or not, he was in deep trouble. He was trapped in a castle full of people who hated him.

He fell onto his back, loosening his belt. He would just relieve a little stress. Maybe then he would have a better idea of what to do next.

Just as his tension began to ease, he heard the doorknob turn. Swearing again, he jumped to his feet, struggling to pull his trousers back up.

Weasley stepped into the room, a bag draped over one shoulder. He glanced away at once, looking ill. "Keep it in your trousers, Malfoy."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Oh, please. I'd rather do an owl."

"An owl wouldn't have you."

"It was good enough for Potter." Draco felt a thrill of triumph as Weasley's face turned beet red, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Now, are you quite finished? I'm a little busy here."

Weasley wrinkled his nose. "Believe me, I don't want to be here any more than you want me here, so let's just get right to the point." He set the bag on the desk chair. "I don't know what happened between you and Harry. Quite frankly, I don't want to know. But for whatever reason, Harry thought you were worth helping."

"Are you going to get to that point any time soon?" Draco asked. "I have better things to do."

"Do you know what an aeroplane is?"

Malfoy blinked. "Big Muggle flying contraption? I'm familiar."

"Good." Weasley pulled what looked like a small booklet with papers tucked inside from his back pocket. He dropped it on the desk. "Everything you'll need is in there, plus directions. If you have any problems, just tell them you're foreign or something."

"And where exactly are you shipping me off to?"

"My cousin Thomas recently got his own place in the States. He's agreed to let you stay with him for a few weeks."

"And after that?"

"After that, you're not my problem anymore." Weasley turned for the door.

"Wait." Draco was slightly surprised to hear his own voice. He did not even know what he was going to say until Weasley looked at him again. "Potter's dead, isn't he?"

Weasley glared. "I don't know what the hell Harry saw in you," he growled. He walked out, slamming the door with a loud bang that seemed to linger in the air.

Draco stared at the door for a long time. Then he turned his attention to the papers on the desk. The booklet said, "Passport" on the front, and he found an aeroplane ticket tucked inside, along with a handwritten set of directions to an aeroport in London. He had to use the fireplace from the Slytherin common room to reach an abandoned house in the city, after which he would continue on foot.

He glanced at the bag next. There was a small pouch of money inside, along with Potter's Invisibility Cloak. As he drew the cloak out, a piece of parchment slipped from the folds, fluttering to the ground. Draco stooped to pick it up. He smoothed out the wrinkles and stared at the single sentence scrawled on it, followed by a hurried signature.

_Sometimes the pawns are worth saving._

_Harry Potter_

Draco crumbled the parchment in his fist. Potter was a sentimental idiot. It was a wonder he did not die years ago.

Draco went to the wardrobe and grabbed as many clothes as he could stuff into the bag. He flipped the bag closed and threw it on the bed. He sat down to put his shoes on.

When he stood and took a step forward, his foot connected with the chessboard. Pieces spilled across the floor, looking up and shaking their tiny fists at him.

Draco stared down at them. His head filled with a number of confusing emotions. He did not have room for the chessboard in his bag. He could have made room, but that would mean taking one less change of clothes. Besides, there was no reason to take it. He doubted there would be much time for playing chess in the next couple weeks.

Still, he could not stop himself from crouching down. He picked up the nearest white knight and examined it. He did not know why. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the piece. In fact, it was worn and the horse's head had a small chip in it. Nevertheless, he could not stop staring.

Potter was always overprotective of his knights, Draco realized. Even if he had lost all his other pieces, he always had a couple of pawns and at least one knight left. It seemed odd, as he rarely put the knights to good use. Then again, Potter was terrible at chess.

Draco smirked in spite of himself. His fist closed around the knight, and he tucked it into his pocket. He pulled the bag back onto his shoulder and drew the cloak around himself. With one last glance around the room, he stepped out into the corridor.

-

_Twelve hours earlier_

"Hello, Ron." Harry stood by the door of the common room, staring at a spot just over Ron's left shoulder. "I'm probably not looking in the right place. Dumbledore's better at this than I am, but I guess he's had more practice."

He rested his hand on the doorknob as though he wanted to leave. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going," he said finally. "I couldn't take the chance you'd try to stop me.

"I'm sure Hermione's probably told you the truth by now. If not...well, there's no use keeping it secret anymore. The last Horcrux...Ron, it's me. I don't really understand it myself. Apparently Dumbledore told me years ago. He said a piece of Voldemort was transferred into me the night he tried to kill me. I should have realized what he meant."

He released the doorknob and leaned against the door, staring at the floor. "There's something Hermione doesn't know though. Really, nobody knows." He laughed. "God, this is so stupid. Here I am making last confessions, and I can't even say it." His smile faded. "Ron, I'm dying. I think I've known for a while, I just couldn't admit it to myself. That day Voldemort ripped my mind apart, he took part of my memory, but I think he also woke up that piece of soul he left inside me. I tried having my mind repaired and even blocking off bits and pieces, but it keeps breaking through. Now that I know it's there, I can feel it...crawling..."

Harry stopped suddenly. He groaned, clutching his head. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small vial of violet potion, taking a sip. He stood breathing heavily for a moment before finally calming down enough to speak again. "Sorry. I really meant to time this better than that."

He held up the vial. "This is the only thing keeping me here right now. Hermione can probably explain what it is better than I can. She was right though. It won't help me. I'm still balanced on the edge, I just can't see the fall anymore. I've already slipped a few times. I managed to make it back, but I don't think I'll be so lucky next time. I'm afraid next time that thing makes its move, it won't be me who wakes up."

Harry moved across the room and sat on the edge of his bed. "I really should have known. I just keep thinking if I was a little bit quicker. If we had found the Horcruxes just a little faster and I was a little smarter, we could have avoided so much."

He sighed. He looked exhausted, as though he had not slept in days. "Anyway, the reason I made this memory for you is I want to set things right. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you lately. To be honest though, I'm not sure I'd do anything different. Well, that's not really true. I would stop you from walking in that day. I never wanted to hurt you like that. If I could take it back, I would. There's so many things I would take back."

He hesitated. "I have a few messages I need you to deliver for me. I need you to tell Hermione I'm sorry it had to end this way. She needs to know that this isn't her fault. There's nothing she could have done. She'll probably want to go looking for Snape and Aberforth. Tell her don't bother. Snape's probably dead by now. I know Aberforth will have gotten away, but I doubt anyone will find him. He might be senile, but he is definitely Dumbledore's brother.

"And tell Ginny I..." Harry's voice broke and he shook his head. "I don't even know what I want to say to her. Tell her I'm sorry if I hurt her. I didn't mean to. Tell her she was right, and I'm sorry I couldn't be honest with her." He looked directly into Ron's eyes this time. "I really do love her. I know it might not have always seemed like it, but I do."

He looked down again, taking a deep breath. "I want you to tell your mum I'm sorry about your dad and Charlie. I know I couldn't do anything to help Charlie, but I should have tried harder to figure out where your dad was in time.

"If you can get a message to Parvati, tell her I'm sorry about her parents and Padma. And tell Mrs. Macmillan I'm sorry about her husband and Ernie. The Carrows will pay for what they did sooner or later. I'm sure of it.

"If you can find someone who speaks Russian, have them tell Anya Petrov I'm sorry about her brother. He was a good kid. He didn't deserve to die like that.

"And Tonks...I know things are tough for her right now, but they should be getting better soon. If she asks about the book, you can tell her I left it. If she asks about a box, it's in the bottom of my trunk. Otherwise, don't say anything. I know that probably doesn't make much sense, but I can't explain it any better."

Harry paused again. "I'm sure there's people I'm forgetting. Hell, there's everyone. I've apologized to you so many times, it probably doesn't even seem like I mean it anymore. I'll be honest, there were a few times when I didn't. I wish I could make it up to you, I really do."

He stared at his hands. "I have to ask you a favor. You've already done so much for me, more than I deserve, but you're the only one I can trust with this. Hermione means well, but I don't think she could go through with it. Hell, I'm not even sure I could do it."

He took a deep breath. "I need you to send Malfoy away. Preferably somewhere out of the country. I know you have a lot of connections through your family. Call in a favor if you have to, but make sure it's someone you can trust. If you need money, just get some from my trunk. The key to my Gringotts vault is in there, too. I'm leaving half of my money to you and the other half to your mum. She'll say no at first, but tell her I wanted her to have it. After what happened to your brothers and Ginny and Fleur, she'll probably need it. I want all of my school supplies donated to Hogwarts. I don't care what you do with my Muggle clothes. The only thing I want you to keep is the box I mentioned earlier. I'm going to ask you not to look in it, but I know if Tonks doesn't ask about it, you probably will eventually. If and when you do open it, just make sure you keep an open mind.

"When you look in my trunk, you might wonder where my broom is. I would have left it to you, but I needed it. If you want to look, I left it in an alley across from Ollivander's. I doubt it's still there. If the Death Eaters didn't find it, I'm sure someone else did.

"Anyway, I know I'm asking a lot of you. If you do decide to help me, there's a bag sitting next to my trunk. It has my Invisibility Cloak and some money. I want you to give it to Malfoy. I wish I could have left the cloak to you, but the fact is he needs it more."

Harry clenched his hands tighter. "I need you to decide what you're going to do within the next couple of days. I asked Hermione to wait a few days before she turns him in, but I can't guarantee she'll listen. After you send him away, you can show this message to Hermione if you don't mind her knowing that you did it. There's something she knows that I never told you."

He looked up at a spot a few feet from Ron, as though addressing someone standing beside him. "It's okay, Hermione," he said. "You can tell him. But you don't know everything. There's only one person who knows everything. Don't bother trying to find out who it is. It doesn't matter. And don't go after Malfoy. I've made my peace with what's happened."

He glanced briefly out the window and turned back to Ron. "I don't know how much time I have left. There's still a couple things I need to take care of before I go. I'm sure there's something I forgot to say. I could be here for hours talking, but I know you don't have that time. There's still a war to fight. Voldemort might be gone, but the Death Eaters are still out there, and the Order took a major hit from that werewolf attack. They'll need every soldier they can get. I'm just sorry I couldn't be there. But this isn't my fight. I know that now."

Harry sighed again, climbing unsteadily to his feet. "Goodbye, Ron. Take care of yourself. And your family. And Hermione. I wish I could have done more to help." He drew his wand and touched it to his head. A silver strand stretched out from his temple.

The fog rolled in, and Ron stood alone.

- - - - -

Author's Note: Please review. As promised, I will be doing a question-answer session. Here's how it'll work: feel free to submit any questions regarding this story or my writing in general either through review or a private message. I'll be accepting questions through July 31st. After that day, I'll compile all of the questions and answer them in a livejournal post (My sign in name is pottersister666) sometime during the first week of August. As always, the questions will be listed anonymously. I'll take questions about anything, whether it be logistics, confusing passages, or the futures of specific characters (I may have to admit defeat on a few of those, since I haven't thought out everything). I will also answer questions about my future as a writer. I already have a few questions that I know I'll be including. Just in case there are a few who don't read that post, however, I'll say my goodbyes here. It's been fun. I wish you all the best.


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